The Sixteen Year Old Hangover Part Two
by Thirteen Ravens
Summary: Years and Years after the Potter's rowdy party, a boy sits alone in his room waiting for the clock to chime in his 16th birthday. Can be read separately from my first fic!
1. One Letter, Some Photos, and a Scare

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or any other legendary JKR character or copyrighted stuff in this fic. I am writing for fun only, and do not seek to profit!

At the time of posting, Part one of this story is incomplete. However, part two is a separate story, being set 16 years in the future, and can stand alone. (Though it's probably funnier to read both – as I do echo things down the times... ;o)

Please review – or post a comment. I really appreciate!

* * *

**15th October, 1981.**

Dear Son,

My dear little soldier! If 'MouldyShorts' hasn't managed to wreck the world with his evil plans yet, you should be reading this at 8pm on the July 30th before your sixteenth birthday.But if you are reading this it will mean I have died. If, by very unhappy circumstances James has also died, you should be in the care of Sirius Black. (We chose you a Godfather with a good sense of fun - if anything happened to James, and me, at least you deserved to have a good time!) You will probably have been informed that Lord Voldemort heard of a prophecy, which predicted that a child with the power to defeat him would be born on a certain date. You were born on that date, Harry.

The only thing that Voldemort doesn't know is the credentials of the person who gave the prophesy. Sibyl Trelawney has spouted all sorts of rubbish in the past - but Dumbledore says we must take this one seriously. So James and I have moved into hiding since your birth - which has been very boring indeed! (We have been advised against throwing any more parties. Sirius is upset because he can't show off his cocktail mixing anymore. I'll warn you now - if you value your liver, don't ever drink anything he's had a hand in mixing up! James still thinks his potent brews are really funny, but I want you to live a long and healthy life.)

I hope you are doing well at Hogwarts, and that you have made many good friends. You are asleep as I write this - a tiny sweet baby. You look very peaceful. James has taken the dog out for a walk.

I suppose I must get to the very important part of this letter before the clock ticks to your sixteenth birthday. Maybe you are wondering why I am calling my husband James in this letter, where I should be using 'your father.' The truth is, I wish I could call James your father. But that would be impossible. He loves you so dearly, soI have never had the heart to tell him that the night you were conceived he had passed out on the bathroom floor just half an hour into our party. He could never hold his drink! Sirius and Remus told me they had then carried him into the bedroom where he snored the party away.

That is one truth out. I am so sorry Harry. James is a hopeless lightweight - even Remus Lupin can drink him under the table. But now I expect you will want to know another truth, who really is your father. The truth is, I don't know exactly. I'm sorry lovey. James' weakness is alcohol; my weakness has always been my looks. I was alwaysbatting the men off at school, and as I got older it only got worse. The trouble is, the more drunk I get, the harder it is to say no to them!

The night in question I had organised a big party. There were lots of men there who were invited. And as always, there were some gatecrashers. (For some reason, I vaguely remember a cowboy being there, though I could have been hallucinating.) Unfortunately Sirius was doing the drinks. It must have been a good party, but as everyone got so drunk they can't remember much about it!

I am very sorry Harry - that I could do something so recklessly stupid. I'm afraid that it is possible that any of the men at the party could be your father. Except for my poor husband, that is.

Now I know this will raise another point. Your looks. As I don't want to hurt James, I charmed you to look like him while you were still unborn. I was the best at charms in my year - but that one I knew might need to last a long time, and so it took a lot of strength out of me. And as I charmed you in the womb - I still can't tell who your father might be. And with all the scare-mongering about the prophesy at the moment, me revealing the truth might put other people in danger. So I don't know what you really look like, and as far as James knows, you are unquestionably his son.

If James and I can't live to see your sixteenth birthday, please understand that I am only telling you now, because I wanted you old enough where you can understand that adults can make mistakes too. Your parents may be magical, but we are still only human.

Despite what saintly stories Sirius and Dumbledore might tell you, I was a busybody, and a flirt at school, and James was a terrible show off who used to pick on people. Everyone makes mistakes. I understand that you will be very upset about this letter Harry, but the truth is better than a lie. Whatever we are guilty of, always remember that you are the angel of our lives, and that we love you very dearly.

I must tell you more about the charm, which I have placed upon you. It is called the Physiquous Charm. It is a very complex undetectable spell that only selected very skilled witches and wizards can do. The charm on you has probably begun to weaken about a week ago. You might have noticed your eyes changing a bit.

The spell begins torun out as the clock counts in the first minute of your sixteenth birthday. Dumbledore is the only other person who knows you have the Physiquous cast on you. And this is only because I have sent him another delayed letter, which he should be reading at the same time as you. Up to now I have never dared tell him. (But with Dumbledore, I've never been sure about what he knows and what he doesn't.) I have asked him to visit you shortly after midnight on your birthday to assess whether it is safe for you to live without the charm.

Please, please don't be angry Harry. Times are dark enough as it is. Be strong, and look to James or Sirius. I cannot stop you from seeking out your real father - but please, pleasedon't hate him for it. If you must hate anybody, hate your mother. I as likely led a drunk man on, and was unfaithful to my husband.

I am very sorry that I am not alive to tell you this Harry. But if there should be one responsible thing I do to help patch up all the mistakes in my life, it will be telling the truth to my son.

I can't tell you how you should act, but promise me you will always take care of yourself. With all my love.

Mum.

P.S. It is theonly thing I can think ofto help - but I have included a list of names and photos of all the men that were invited to the party. I took them out of my school yearbook. It makes me feel pretty queasy to think about it, but I must also add the names of the two gatecrashers I knew were alsothere. Though it is very unlikely they would ever have approached me, as I know Spencer is openly gay, and I have heard enough rumours about the other. I really, really hope you've never had the misfortune to meet the second man. He is rather trying at the best of times. But with the amount of drink Sirius was mixing, I honestly can't rule anyone out. Again, I'm sorry.

Harry stared dumbly at the letter for some time. He could feel the extra piece of parchment beneath the letter. Hands trembling he pulled it out. Twenty pairs of eyes blinked, and stared up at him. And one of these pairs of eyes belonged to his true father...

Harry's eyes grew wide. Sirius was there, and Remus! He gulped as he moved on to read the names printed under the other pictures. Frank Longbottom. Stephen Bones, Edgar bones, David Boot, Ben Perks, Andy Bell, Jacob Brocklehurst, and Enos Fletchley.

Then, names he didn't recognise - Nathan Smith, John Rookley and a mysterious looking chap called Dignus Magelus who winked up at him. He looked sadly at the picture of Benjy Fenwick. Moody had told him last year he was dead. And so were Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who were identical twins with blonde hair and goatees.

Harry couldn't help spluttering as he read out the name of Andreas Zabini, but almost had a fit when he saw Peter Pettigrew's watery eyes squinting up at him. NO! To even think that it could be possible!

And then, down the bottom, separate from the rest and surrounded by little question marks - were the two gatecrashers. His mother doubted them because one was openly gay, and the other one could be - if the rumours she'd heard were true. Spencer Sharpe beamed up at him and waved. Harry smiled back - he looked nice. He cast his eyes down to the next picture.

He clapped a hand to his mouth - and swore loudly.

There, right at the bottom of the page was a very dark and sinister picture indeed. The person in this photo was making no secret that he had hated having his picture taken. Hated the photographer. Probably hated everything. He was wearing the meanest scowl Harry had ever seen on anybody. A greasy black fringe covered his forehead, and almost hid a pair of narrowed, and eerily gleaming black eyes.

Harry didn't even need to read the name to know that this malicious, wild looking man was a young Severus Snape.

His stomach lurched. He swore again. The bastard had spent five years stalking him around the school - it made sense that he stalked his parents too! Snape gatecrashing a party? Snape hated fun! And then Harry remembered what he was. How did a Deatheater manage to gatecrash his worst enemy's party?

And what was infinitely worse - he was on his mother's list of suspects! Harry gulped. She must have been drunk. Very, very, very drunk to have-

Oh Merlin - no.

_No, no, no..._

Harry hastily rolled up the parchment. Creepy or friendly, twinkly or glinting, he didn't want any of those little eyes staring at him until it was absolutely necessary for them to. He looked at his watch. 11pm. Dumbledore would be here shortly - he must stay calm till then.

He made his way down the stairs, feeling wobbly and weak. He could hear the Dursley's snores. Waiting for the kettle to boil his eyes rested on his uncle's drinks cabinet in the dining room. He didn't really like whiskey (Even so, he and Ron had still managed to get pretty drunk on it last Christmas) - but he was sorely tempted to help himself to some.

The kettle clicked off. He dragged his eyes away from the alcohol and poured water into the cup. Strong coffee for now. He'll save the whiskey for his birthday. He might be needing it. After all, some of the men on the list had children in his year. He might have half brothers or sisters, as well.

Could he even be Blaise Zabini's half brother? Like Blaise, he was rather scrawny and shortish for his age. Harry wondered exactly how well having a Slytherin for a brother would go down with Ron.

As he passed along the hallway, the pull of the dining room became irresistible. There was only one thing for it..

So, with a strong coffee in one hand and a double malt whiskey in the other, Harry crept noiselessly up the stairs. This wasn't the first time he had helped himself to Vernon's drinks cupboard, either.

* * *

It was late at night, and the Headmaster's office was peaceful. The portraits were all either sleeping or snoring. Dumbledore tutted again, and again as he read, and reread a letter. A letter he had never seen before, and which had magicked itself onto his desk just half an hour ago. 

He smiled slightly. So- he had done at least one right thing all those years ago. People had thought him mad to do it, of course, and he had had his moments of doubt.

But maybe, if he was very careful, he could give Harry the real family he had always craved, and nowneeded desperately after theviod left bySirius Black. Now he could begin to quietly prove his critics wrong.

Because Dumbledore knew for sure that Harry Potter's father was alive.

He had always had some doubts about Lily and James' son - they had hovered round him like an instinct. (Or was that an insect? Well, both sorts hovered anyway. Particularly hoverflies. And those funny hawk moth things.)

After a century and a half, Dumbledore knew when to listen to his instincts. He had always had a feeling about this one. Maybe if he dared hope too much, he might even see a little speck of light at the end of the dark empty tunnel.

His eyes twinkled. Some little hunches were strange indeed. This one was definitely up there. Not many people would be insane enough to risk gambling on an instinctive whim about walnut ripple ice cream with extra Hundreds and Thousands...


	2. Truly Nightmareish

Harry stared numbly out of his open window. It was a stiflingly warm summer night, The neighbour's lawn sprinkler sounded quieter than usual. It hadn't rained for almost five weeks, so there would probably be a hosepipe ban soon; unless, of course, that distant rumble was the sound of an approaching thunderstorm.  
  
As it got closer to midnight the rumbles of thunder drifted closer, and Harry became more and more twitchy. His nerves, the coffee and the alcohol had all mixed unpleasantly, and even the sound of someone tooting a car horn outside made him almost fling himself sideways off his chair.  
  
Harry took the Dursleys' shaving mirror out of the bathroom, sat on the edge of his bed and stared at it. So, the face he had looked at in the mirror was not his, then. The illusion of James Potter, who had loved him as if he were his own son. That was because he had thought he was his son, of course.  
  
Harry felt his face gingerly with one hand. He could feel no difference. But he had noticed his eyes had somehow lost their brilliant shade of green. Wasn't he meant to have his mother's eyes then? If so, he wasn't sure if he wanted his 'real' face. And James Potter had loved him. His real father didn't. He didn't even know Harry was his.  
  
Maybe he was already dead? Did he really want some bloke's face that didn't love him? Or even to resemble another man, and still have no father, when he turned out to be dead too. Then it would be, 'Oh! He looks just like so- and-so did!' all over again. Harry blinked back tears and hoped Dumbledore would come early. He would demand that he renew his mother's charm - whether it was needed or not.  
  
But to have a father - alive. Possible aunts and uncles. Cousins. Grandparents. Half brothers and sisters! All he had stared hungrily at in the mirror of Erised in his first year. Maybe it did see the future. Ron might even make Quidditch Captain yet, damn him. He smiled lop-sidedly. The whiskey was making the room a bit fuzzy around the edges.  
  
A bolt of lightning illuminated his room. Harry checked his watch. Five to midnight. The Dursleys had reached their full snoring volume. The thunder boomed overhead. Hedwig was out hunting, and she didn't like thunderstorms.  
  
Suddenly his eyes blurred over completely. Harry blinked wildly and gasped. Whiskey had not done this to him before. What was going on?  
  
He then remembered what his mother had written about the eyes. Was his real father even more hopelessly short sighted? Blind? He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.  
  
Blinked. Then blinked again.  
  
The room was in perfect focus. Without glasses.  
  
Well that had to be one positive thing about it. No more annoying little indents in his nose either. He folded his glasses carefully and put them in his pocket. And went back to staring at the mirror.  
  
His eyes had gone a sort of muddy camouflage green now. If he looked up to the light, that was. When he shadowed them with his hand and the pupils enlarged, they looked very dark indeed.  
  
Well, that ruled out Sirius with his pale blue irises. And Fenwick and the Prewetts with darker blue. He breathed a sigh of relief. His father was alive then, at least.  
  
He also guessed that it wasn't Remus, either. His eyes were very light brown verging on yellowish, and his eyebrows were on the hairy side. Nor Zabini - his eyes were hazel. Harry peered closely at Magelus, who stuck his tongue out at him. This wizard looked like he could have been put in Slytherin. And he had very dark green eyes.  
  
His watch bleeped. Midnight. He was sixteen today!  
  
The lightning flickered again, tearing through the hot air with a boom. At about ten seconds into his birthday Harry felt a tingling all over like pins and needles. Then as the watch showed one minute past midnight it stopped.  
  
Well, he didn't feel any different, at least. And his hands and arms didn't look any different. Perhaps only his face was charmed? He went to pick up the mirror, which was lying on his bed. But as his hand touched it he froze. Lightning flashed.  
  
Did he really want to know? Should he wait for Dumbledore to renew the charm? He was used to being a Potter, could he cope with not being one?  
  
Harry remembered back to what it felt like when he saw himself as Goyle in the mirror after drinking the Polyjuice potion in year two, and shuddered.  
  
He just hoped that Dumbledore would hurry up. Harry waited for half an hour, trying to resist the urge to get another double whiskey. But finally he discovered he couldn't put off going to the toilet any longer.  
  
As he crossed the dark landing he trod on a creaky floorboard. The noise made the snoring from his aunt and uncle's bedroom stop. Harry froze. He had just had a sudden alarming thought. What if he looked so different the Dursleys would assume he was a burglar and call the police, or chuck him out on the street?  
  
The snoring started again. Harry exhaled slowly and tiptoed into the bathroom. He didn't turn on the light, as that would make a noise. There was a huge mirror in the bathroom, so he kept his eyes down. He didn't fancy looking at even his new outline. Then, just as he was tiptoeing back across the landing, there was another flicker of lightning, and-  
  
SHHH-CRACK!  
  
Harry's heart skipped a beat. That sounded a bit like someone apparating just outside!  
  
He peered over the banisters into the darkness. There was the faint orange glow of the streetlamp glowing on the hallway carpet. His heart sunk. It was just the sound of a lightning strike.  
  
But maybe it wasn't. He couldn't quite see the front door from this angle. If he leaned over a bit more he might just-  
  
'Somebody at the door, Potter?' hissed a sarcastic voice very close to his ear.  
  
Harry jumped and almost fell down the stairs with fright. He clutched a hand to his thudding chest, but didn't turn around. Damn the coffee for making him so twitchy! He knew too well who the speaker was. And it wasn't Dumbledore.  
  
The professor of his nightmares had finally merged with the house of his nightmares. And what a night for it! His birthday had started off with a horribly, horribly, twisted and wrong surprise. Why, oh why, did it have to be the only professor who enjoyed sneaking up on people?  
  
Dursley Worst Nightmare, please allow me to introduce you to my Hogwarts' Worst Nightmare - the charming and authentically greasy, Severus Snape.go on sir, make yourself at home - though it's not my home-  
  
'Are you deaf as well as paralysed, Potter? A monosyllable of acknowledgement would be polite,' Snape whispered icily. 'But manners were never your forte, were they?'  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in. 'Bugger off nightmare. Bugger off nightmare,' he thought desperately.  
  
He had actually had a really awful nightmare recently about Snape coming to the Dursleys to get revenge for Harry calling him Professor Snivellus and turning him upside down in potions class.  
  
Maybe he was dreaming it again. But he couldn't normally smell anything in dreams, and this Snape reeked of singed herbs. (Aromatic aromas, he would probably say.)  
  
Snape hissed impatiently. Harry was thankful that the hallway was so dark. Snape wouldn't notice that Harry Potter probably didn't look like a Potter any more. Harry frowned. If he was no longer related to the Potters - then that would make Snape's personal five year vendetta against him a complete and utter waste of time and effort.  
  
Which was, well, rather funny, really. He felt a smile creeping across his face, and desperately managed to stifle a giggle. But only just. It came out as a small squeak.  
  
And, of course, Snape heard it.  
  
'What is it that you find so comical, Potter?' The voice was getting more dangerous. Harry bit his lip.  
  
Potter. Potter. Potter. Just like your father, Potter-  
  
He had to pinch his nose hard to stop himself from snorting out loud.  
  
And then he wondered why Snape was at the Dursleys. Had Dumbledore sent him for a reason? Now that thought wiped the smile off his face.  
  
And chilled him to the bone.  
  
'Sorry, sir,' he whispered. 'Follow me.' 


	3. Stormy Exchange

He led Snape into his bedroom. He heard Snape shut the door behind him. The thunder rumbled threateningly. Harry felt a sudden snatch of fear. The last time he had been in a room alone with Snape, he had had a jar of dead cockroaches slung at him. He hoped that Snape wasn't into lobbing other people's stuff about as well.  
  
And now he looked like someone else, Snape would think he had been doing magic outside term time. Then the house points would be on the slide. He shivered slightly, and decided that it would be best if he kept his back to Snape.  
  
Snape sniffed disdainfully. The boy seemed to slouch as he walked. And he smelt absolutely vile. 'Should I bother to enquire as to what drove you to drinking neat whiskey, Potter?'  
  
There would be no point denying it - the empty glass was on his bedside cabinet. Harry felt like firing off some witty comment, but decided he couldn't really care less what Snape thought anymore. 'Why are you here, sir?' he asked wearily, reaching for scroll on his bed, trying not to sound nervous.  
  
'The Headmaster needs to see you,' replied Snape curtly. 'He is apparently too busy to visit himself, so naturally he sends a member of staff who is even busier than he is. When I arrived in his office, he was reading a rather faded scroll of parchment-'  
  
Harry could feel those black eyes boring into the back of his head. He could tell that Snape was becoming offended about his keeping his back to him. 'He probably thinks I'm trying to protect myself from his legilimency,' thought Harry. He rolled the scroll more tightly in his hand. Large streaks of rain had begun to splash down the dusty window pane.  
  
'And I see that you have received a similar scroll-' stated Snape carefully. 'May I see the seal?'  
  
'No.' Harry clutched it protectively with both hands; this was his business! Snape let out a low hiss.  
  
Obviously Dumbledore had dragged the Potions Master away from his precious work in the middle of the night, then ordered him to the Dursleys to see Potter, of all people. And had not told him what was going on. Dumbledore must have gone mad.  
  
Hiding a secret from Snape, was like trying to keep a hungry bear away from your camp food.  
  
'I was enraged to discover you were the reason for the Headmaster disrupting my work tonight. So don't think you can prevent me from finding out by keeping your back to me Potter,' he hissed. 'And look at me when I'm talking to you!'  
  
While Ron had shot up to just over six foot tall in the past two years, scrawny Harry had lagged behind. Probably thanks to malnourishment, the Dursleys, and a cramped cupboard. Harry had stalled at five foot eight, Snape's height exactly. And he found it satisfying he could now look his bully levelly in the eyes.  
  
If he felt like it that was. Which was not right then.  
  
'No!' He stated more firmly, hugging the scroll to his chest. The smell of singed herbs wafted closer. Snape was virtually breathing on his neck. He swallowed. 'The sender of the scroll only wanted Dumbledore to know, sir.'  
  
'Know what?' said Snape sharply.  
  
Harry tensed as he heard the professor's teeth grate. Awful as it was, he was half expecting to be thrown across the room again.  
  
'I will not be made a fool of Potter,' he said quietly. 'The only possible reason for me standing here would be due to a direct order from the man. And that man has ordered me to bring you to Hogwarts.'  
  
'Didn't Dumbledore tell you why he needed to see me, sir?'  
  
'Potter-' Snape's voice had reached its lowest and most dangerous whisper. This was the limit. 'If - you - don't - turn - around - this - instant-'  
  
Harry leapt forward, snatched the pillow off his bed, pulled off the pillowcase and put it over his head before turning around to face Snape. He crossed his arms defiantly.  
  
'Okay! I've turned round. Now lead the way.'  
  
Through the pillowcase, Harry could make out Snape rubbing his forehead madly, as if wanting to scream out 'Why me!' in desperation. The professor dropped his hand and slitted his eyes.  
  
'I should like to know what sort of inane little.joke you imagine to be playing on me, -Mister- Potter!'  
  
'No joke sir,' said Harry soberly. 'A game of trust. Now I can trust you to take me to Dumbledore.'  
  
The pensieve-raiding upstart dared to bring up trust? Trust! Snape's fingers flexed. --Throttle Potter, throttle Potter-  
  
Muttering oaths under his breath, eyes flashing pure murder, Snape rammed a fist into his pocket and whipped out a pink hairbrush.  
  
Harry's eyes widened. 'You own a hairbrush, sir?'  
  
'No I don't!' he snapped, sensing the faint amusement in the boy's voice. His lip curled maliciously. 'I'm rather surprised an ignorant, urchin- haired brat like you knows what a hairbrush is!' He paused to savour the insult, and calm down slightly. 'This - vile - thing, Potter, happens to be the emergency portkey to your house. Dumbledore's own - uniquely unfortunate - brand of humour.'  
  
Harry stared at Snape. He was still as nasty, vile and sarcastic as ever - but Harry was surprised not to feel any hate towards him at all. He had hated the man like no one else for weeks after Sirius had died. More than Voldemort's mind tricks, in fact. He had spent whole days raging and cursing Snape in his room. Refusing to go out, wash himself, or eat anything. Creeping downstairs at night to get at Uncle Vernon's whiskey, and drinking until he passed out in a stupor. It was the best way to get to sleep.  
  
Until that dream about the potions class.  
  
He was the one who had taken a savage pleasure in spinning Snape upside down in that. Listening to Ron laughing, and the class egging him on. But there had been no real pleasure for him at all, just a sickening desire to torture. And then he had raised his wand high above his head, and Snape had screamed as he knew what was coming.  
  
'Crucio!'  
  
The bitter taste in his mouth finally became so vile it forced him to stop. He had woken up in a cold sweat, and had found himself retching, spitting and gargling into the sink for half an hour. Trying desperately to rinse out the taste he recognised as soap.  
  
After that dream he realised that the rage he felt at Snape, was really directed at himself. He had lain on his floor in despair. Hatred had been replaced by fear, self-disgust, and a backlash of raging guilt that gnawed his insides constantly. He had made a stupid, stupid mistake.  
  
But, adults made mistakes, too - they were flawed, like he was. Human. Weak. Hadn't the past year helped to shatter his childhood idols? Lupin had looked on as Sirius and his father had bullied Snape, like Snape now bullied him in class. Snape was wrong like the Marauders were wrong. But Dumbledore had made his own mistakes, too. And then Harry had rushed off like a stupid idiot and put his friends in danger. The Sorting Hat had sang its warning, and everyone had ignored it. And now Sirius was dead.  
  
Hermione still didn't know about the pensieve incident, but she had mentioned the Sorting Hat's speech in her last letter to him. She had also brought up Occlumency yet again-  
  
Harry gritted his teeth - he knew he had to stop hating everything for the bad taste in his mouth to go away. Hadn't he been shown that revenge didn't work? He wasn't his father, but he wasn't Snape either. Bitter vengeance was a slow acting poison, which had been sliding through the veins of Hogwarts for years. It couldn't go on, all this Basilisk-like, soul- destroying hate.  
  
It was up to him to stop it from spreading further, and killing someone else. But to start with Snape?  
  
Harry swallowed. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he croaked hoarsely. The apology left him weak-kneed, and painfully raw inside. This had just hurt him far more than denial.  
  
A cool breeze wafted in as rain began to pour down outside. The lightning flashed multiple times, turning the sky a pale silvery grey. The resounding thunderclaps were so loud they shook the house walls, causing both of them to jump.  
  
Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow before thrusting the spiky end of the brush in front of Harry's face. He clenched his teeth. 'Whatever, Potter!'  
  
'Fine,' sighed Harry, clutching the bristles.  
  
He felt the powerful jerk beyond his navel. The floor vanished from beneath his feet, the bristles dug into his hand. A dizzying rainbow of colours and sounds swirled all around. Then - BANG! Harry felt his knees collapse from under him. 


	4. The Older the Wiser?

The floor of Dumbledore's office came into focus. A single, downy Phoenix feather drifted on the floor in front of his face. He could hear Snape complaining to Dumbledore about him. He realised he was still holding onto the brush. Or rather - it was holding on to him. He winced as he peeled the brush off his hand.  
  
'Severus, please! Sit down and listen for a moment,' Dumbledore's voice had an urgency to it. Snape sat and glowered. He turned to Harry, who had stood up shakily. 'Happy birthday,' he smiled gently. 'But why the pillowcase, Harry? Surely it can't be that awful?'  
  
'Well sir...' Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly. 'I don't know. I can't bring myself to look.' He could see Snape's eyes slide from him to Dumbledore, then back again. Trying to piece together the latest puzzle.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. 'I have only just received a note from your mother barely two hours ago. Professor Snape and I have traced the powerful magic to its source - and it is indeed authentic. I am still quite surprised by it all. But I quite understand-'  
  
'NO. You don't understand. Not at all!' growled Harry irritably, crossing his arms. Hadn't he damn well heard enough 'I understands' already this summer? 'I think that you should put what she did to me back on, and then leave it. I don't want to know, sir. I'm just not interested!'  
  
Despite the uncaring scowl he was wearing, Snape was very intrigued as Dumbledore had kept Lily's word, and had not allowed him to read the scroll. A conspiracy, then? And nosy, prying Potter didn't want to find out about it?  
  
Dumbledore sighed. 'Come Harry, I sent professor Snape to fetch you for good reason. I have urged him time and time again not to direct all the hate he still has for James Potter at you. But he has stubbornly ignored my pleas. Now this matter has arisen. Please explain to him why he has been wrong.'  
  
Snape hissed. A conspiracy against him!  
  
Harry scowled underneath the pillowcase. 'I can't see why I should bother to explain anything, sir. It's too late - the damage has already been done, if you haven't already noticed,' he said coldly.  
  
'Yes, enough of your riddles Headmaster!' Snape sprang out of his chair, his eyes flashing. 'I demand to know what is going on!'  
  
'Please, sit down, Severus!' exclaimed Dumbledore. The angry Snape twitched as Dumbledore eyes stared piercingly over his half moon glasses at him. 'I insist on there being no more secrets where Harry is concerned. He must face the truth from now on. Now, will you listen?'  
  
Snape hissed yet again, but sat down and crossed his arms. 'Very well!'  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat. 'Your old school adversary, it appears, did not father this young man.'  
  
Snape frowned. Raised one eyebrow. Lowered it. Raised both eyebrows. Then narrowed his eyes, before smirking oddly.  
  
'Pardon?'  
  
Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle. 'Potter, is not a Potter, because - ah - Lily Potter pottered off with someone else. If you are more in the mood for puns, and not riddles, that is,' he chuckled.  
  
Harry's gaze moved from an amused Dumbledore, to a confused Snape. Dumbledore was taking this far too lightly. He frowned; this was hardly a laughing matter!  
  
'This is hardly a laughing matter, Dumbledore,' muttered Snape.  
  
'Eeep,' thought Harry. Was that Legilimency?  
  
Harry's head was getting quite hot and bothered under the pillowcase. If Snape really had to know about the letter, he'd rather have it told straight, without all the farting and joking about Dumbledore was so fond of. At his rate it would take the rest of the night!  
  
He cleared his throat nervously.  
  
'The thing is, professor Snape, is - er- that I just found out that my mother charmed me with a physiquous disfigure. Er - I mean - disfigured me with a physiquous charm. So I'd look like James. But only until my sixteenth birthday,' Harry stumbled.  
  
'Who is your father, then!' Snape snapped. This was utterly ridiculous. A dream, perhaps - had he fallen asleep in his laboratory without taking Dreamless Sleep again?  
  
'Well, my mother - wasn't sure exactly-'  
  
Snape huffed. 'She always had a string of admirers,' he sneered. 'Half the boys in school used to follow her about drooling.'  
  
'But she seems certain in her letter that my father was one of the men at a party they held in Godric's Hollow -'  
  
'A truly appalling evening, from what I heard,' Snape cut in coolly. 'Whoever heard of so many drunken wizards in such a quiet Muggle village. The Ministry should have arrested them!'  
  
'-And she sent me photos of all the men who attended that party-'  
  
'Potter!' came the curt voice. 'If you expect me to be enthralled by your-'  
  
'-Including two photos of what she calls a pair of gay gatecrashers.'  
  
Snape's mouth snapped shut like a trap. His fingers curled round the chair arms like talons.  
  
'But - I didn't accompany him!' he exploded. 'He just showed up when I was lurking outside, minding my own business! He then dragged me through their front door. If it hadn't had been for that blasted dog-' Snape trailed off and shuddered.  
  
Harry frowned. Dogs - Snape did seem to be building up a bit of an unfortunate track record with dogs, and not just three headed ones. A possible phobia? Could this explain his hatred of Sirius and Lupin?  
  
Sirius! Snuffles - Harry felt his eyes go misty. 'Dog?' he asked blankly.  
  
'Potter's Dobermann!' spat Snape, his eyes gleaming. 'Bloody female! Probably Mutt-man's bitch.' He leered wickedly at the after thought.  
  
Dumbledore almost choked on a lemon drop. Was it possible then for Animagi to have-?  
  
'Severus!' exclaimed Dumbledore - once he had finished spluttering out chunks of solidified sugar. 'Students present!'  
  
Trust Severus to think of that. Dear, dear. He certainly hoped, then, that Sirius /was/ indeed the last of the Blacks-  
  
'Am I to understand that by 'Mutt-man,' you are referring to my recently departed, last descendant?' called a reedy voice indignantly.  
  
Snape stood up and whirled around. 'Don't you start as well!' he snarled, his eyes glittering contemptuously at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. 'A little odd, perhaps, for a man in green to suddenly start rushing to the support of his long ejected family member, and expired-Gryffindor, don't you think?'  
  
The Slytherins sneered nastily at one another.  
  
Harry stared at the portrait closely. Now Phineas was angry he looked more like Sirius. Harry winced. It was reminding him too much of the scene in Grimmauld Place last year.  
  
But he mustn't get upset. He'd finish telling his story, first. Anything that might make Snape might lay off him a bit in lessons was worth trying. No matter how slim the chance.  
  
He bit his lip. 'So - that was the reason I didn't want you to see me - uh - Professor. I was worried you would assume I had done magic outside school, or were some impostor that you would have hexed into next week.'  
  
Snape dragged his narrowed eyes from the portrait, and directed them at Harry. 'It never fails to surprise me though, Potter (Damn it - he's not!) that whether your intentions be ill or no, every one is still tainted with your own particular brand of stubborn arrogance.'  
  
Snape's gaze slid back to the glaring portrait. His voice was venomously quiet. 'I rather fancy that the appointed 'cocktail mixer' on that particular evening chose to experiment with more than just alcohol-'  
  
Harry growled. He had had quite enough of these hateful digs at his Godfather. If Snape wanted to think Sirius was his father, let him! 


	5. Multiple Shocks

Harry had had enough. 'Professor Dumbledore - I'd like you to renew the charm now!'  
  
'But, don't you want to find out who your father is, Harry?'  
  
'No, sir, I wouldn't. I wouldn't want to give professor Snape the pleasure of guessing correctly. Not that he is right of course, I don't even know myself,' he muttered.  
  
Snape muttered an oath under his breath.  
  
'But will you give -me- the pleasure of guessing correctly, Harry?' smiled Dumbledore.  
  
Harry stood and thought for a moment. Dumbledore had probably worked it all out years ago. And he seemed quite relaxed about it. His father couldn't be bad if Dumbledore was smiling.  
  
Harry made his decision. He turned and moved across to a large wall mirror to one side of Dumbledore's office. The mirror seemed ordinary, but it actually had a second function, which was similar to a rememberall's. But it was far more useful. If you had forgotten something it would visualise you holding it, or doing it.  
  
Harry faced the mirror. Everything was a bit fuzzy because of the pillowcase. He noticed his reflection was holding his wand, and piled up next to him was his trunk, robes, books, broomstick, and Hedwig perched on top of it all. No matter - he would fetch these. He was supposed to be picked up by the Order later today.  
  
Behind him - sat halfway across the room, the reflection of a nonchalant Snape was glaring daggers at the back of his head. So - the professor did have a reflection! He'd have to inform Fred and George of this.  
  
'Glad to see that those rumours about you aren't true, Professor Snape,' remarked Harry mysteriously.  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed. 'However much Hogwarts students would wish me to be, I am not currently dead, Mr Potter.' Snape paused. A smirk crossed his face. 'I am also, in the greatest ironical contrast to that rumour, a strict vegetarian. I feel confident revealing this to you, of course - because adding one more weapon to a hopeless verbal sparrer's arsenal won't increase his chances of winning.'  
  
Harry pulled a face. Snape the vile, vicious, vampiric, (scratch that) vindictive, vengeful, VEGETARIAN? The latest in the apt adjectives for Snape beginning with 'V' just did not ring right.  
  
Hermione would probably approve, though. She already insisted on only eating organic, free-range chicken eggs, and now refused to eat chicken because of a television programme she watched once.  
  
Harry shook himself. What tangent was he going off on?  
  
And now Snape was laughing at him.  
  
Laughing? Snape? Snape - laughing?  
  
It wasn't a good laugh either. He sounded similar to a boy who used to go to his primary school. Stephen Collins used to spit on his sweets before offering them to people. It was that sort of dry, nasty snicker.  
  
A very, very annoying laugh. Worse than Malfoy's dry little hiss.  
  
Harry had had quite enough. He balled his fists and without thinking, spun round, whipped the pillowcase from his head and jumped forward, glaring murderously at the insolent professor.  
  
'Well! I happen to think you look exactly like - and are - a giant, overgrown bat Snape!' he roared.  
  
Harry expected the Gryffindor house points to go into freefall at any moment. But they didn't.  
  
The black eyes went wide with shock, the jaw slackened and dropped, and Severus Snape, master of style and stealth, as well as Potions, had in one movement yelped and shot back in his chair with such violence the chair had tipped backwards.  
  
CRASH!  
  
Harry blinked. What was he now - the giant squid? He swung round quickly to stare at the mirror.  
  
He gasped, and felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach. (By the sound of the hyperventilating behind him, Snape probably had just punched himself in the stomach.)  
  
Harry gaped. His original face had hardly changed. He was still thin faced, like James and still had the same shock of scruffy hair - like James. The greatest differences were that his eyebrows were thinner, his nose slightly longer, and his eyes, instead of bright green, or hazel, were now dark green.  
  
Snape groaned, and made no attempt to get up off the floor.  
  
'But-' Harry gasped, looking wildly around at Dumbledore. 'But I've hardly changed! - but - that has to be - impossible!'  
  
Dumbledore's pale blue eyes began to twinkle. Then they began to glow red-  
  
Harry yelled.  
  
The thunder cracked and boomed loudly overhead, shaking the walls. Harry sat bolt upright, sweating and shaking, to find that he was on his bedroom floor, tangled up with his bedsheets and duvet cover. Hedwig's cage was empty, and the rain was pouring in his wide-open window, soaking his desk.  
  
Breathing heavily Harry scrabbled to switch on the light. He wondered if he had yelled out loud this time, and woken the Dursleys. He shut the window and tried to hear above the noise of the storm.  
  
The Dursleys were still snoring. He looked at his watch. It was half past one in the morning.  
  
Harry looked around; there was no sign of the scroll. Had that been a dream then, or a vision?  
  
He shuddered, remembering the glowing eyes. He hadn't had any visions from Voldemort since the confrontation in the Ministry of Magic. Was torturing him about his parents a sick new idea of his? But if it was indeed a vision, how come he wasn't seeing it through Voldemort's eyes?  
  
He felt his face anxiously. Was his nose longer? He wasn't sure. Harry felt foolish, but he just had to check. Needed to look in a mirror. 


	6. Back to Reality?

He opened his wardrobe, peered into the mirror on the back of the door, and let out a great sigh of relief. His nose was as it always was. And his eyes were still emerald green.  
  
Harry's next thought was of his Uncle's drinks cabinet. One whiskey wouldn't hurt.  
  
Gingerly he opened his bedroom door and crept across the landing and down the stairs. The lightning flickered off the dark walls, just like in his dream, and Harry shivered. It all seemed so real.  
  
He rubbed his fingers over his scar and cursed himself mentally. What an idiot, to fall for a vision like that!  
  
Drink in hand, he tiptoed back upstairs, across the landing. Shutting his bedroom door as quietly as he could, he switched off the light again, and went to climb back into bed. He sat there for a while staring at the wall, then lay down and tried to sleep. It was impossible.  
  
Scowling he sat up, reached for the whiskey and downed it in one gulp. A few weeks ago he would have coughed and spluttered, but now he barely noticed its sharp taste. He fingered the glass in his hand and considered going downstairs to get another. But what he really needed right now was one of Dudley's 'special' cigarettes.  
  
Harry smirked to himself. If his aunt and uncle had no clue as to what Dudley was up to last year, then what he was doing this summer would make them faint with the shock!  
  
But the really odd thing was, when Dudley was on his own he actually acted more friendly towards Harry. The day after he had got back from Hogwarts, Dudley had given him his old stereo, and had even let Harry borrow what he wanted from his CD collection.  
  
Harry naturally, had been surprised by this. But not as half as surprised as what had happened to the Dursley household in the nine months he'd been away.  
  
Uncle Vernon had moved out, and had left Aunt Petunia and Dudley alone in Privet Drive. His aunt and uncle had separated.  
  
After Dudley had given him the stereo, Harry asked him what had happened, and they had gone for a walk, ending up behind a shed at the back of the allotments.  
  
Harry was as shocked as Dudley had been. It was really odd to have Vernon dropping Aunt Petunia off outside Privet Drive, then driving off again. As he never cared to contact the Dursleys during term time (For good reason) Harry was even more surprised to learn his uncle and aunt had been living apart for well over six months.  
  
Dudley explained that his parents had a huge row after Harry had left for Hogwarts, and that his father had shouted that he'd had enough of her lies, and had stormed out. He was gone for days, and had switched off his mobile. His mother had been really scared, and had cried. Vernon returned a few days later, the situation didn't improve, and just before Christmas announced he was moving out. Dudley had wanted to move out with him, but his mother made him stay. But she refused to tell him why.  
  
Dudley had shuddered and gone quite pale after he had said this. Maybe he had been told after all.  
  
Told all about Voldemort, his aunt and uncle, who Harry really was-  
  
The cousins had then sat in an almost depressed silence. Harry wondered also what the Dementors had made Dudley hear last summer.  
  
And as the weeks went by, and the holidays became more and more boring, Harry increasingly found himself either lying in Dudley's room listening to music, or creeping out to the allotment with him on evenings when he wasn't with his gang. Conversation was still difficult between them, but this wasn't the whole point of creeping off, anyway.  
  
Harry and Dudley had only one thing in mind - to get stoned. Or drunk. Or both.  
  
There was a sudden loud tapping at the window. Harry looked around, expecting to see Hedwig's shadow. But it was another owl - Hermione's.  
  
The soaked owl hovered in, dropped a package on the bed before perching on Harry's arm. It then shook its body, flicking drops of rain up the walls and over Harry.  
  
'Eugh!' Harry quickly offloaded the soggy bird on top of Hedwig's cage, and gave it a tidbit. He turned toward the parcel on the bed, which had a brightly coloured envelope attached to the outside of it. Of course - he had forgotten it was his birthday!  
  
He tore open the envelope,  
  
*******  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy 16th Birthday! How are you? I really hope you are well. Hope the Dursleys are treating you properly.  
  
As usual, I can't say much, but everyone is well, and missing you.  
  
As for the present, as you are eating one half of it, promise me you will at least have a go at reading the other half. Please, please. I went to a lot of trouble to find it, as it has apparently been out of print for a hundred years!  
  
Please look after yourself. Looking forward to seeing you soon,  
  
Love Hermione  
  
*******  
  
Harry smiled absent-mindedly and unwrapped the present. On top was a plaque of enchanted chocolate with piped icing. He watched as the icing came alive before his eyes. First it twirled into a zooming snitch with fluttering wings, then into balloons surrounding the message 'Happy 16th Harry!'  
  
He put the chocolate aside. Underneath it was a small, rather old looking book with a battered leather cover. The spine was grooved without writing, but there was a circular emblem pressed into the front. Harry peered at it. It showed a pair of hands partially obscuring the image of a large circular eye.  
  
Frowning, and intrigued he opened the front cover.  
  
'Oh, bloody hell Hermione,' Harry groaned as he read the book's title. She had to remind him, just when he had nearly forgotten!  
  
***Enshrouding intent: A successful Occlumen's technique.***  
  
Sighing wearily, Harry took out a small piece of parchment, scribbled a note of thanks to Hermione and sent the owl on her way, the open window sending in another shower of rain. And another very small, zooming bundle of feathers.  
  
'Pig!' hissed Harry, as Ron's tiny owl whizzed around the lampshade twittering madly. 'Get down here!'  
  
Harry managed to entice the little bird down with a bit of owl treat. As Harry was untying the envelope from his leg, the owl sneezed and puffed up its feathers.  
  
'Hope you aren't getting a chill, Pig, I don't want Hedwig coming down with anything,' he muttered opening up the birthday card.  
  
*****  
  
Hiya Harry!  
  
Happy 16th birthday mate!  
  
Hows it going? Listen - I can't write you a long note, as we'll be seeing you soon anyway - and I'll give you your present then - be patient, its worth it! Hope your summer isn't going too badly still. You say your cousin gave you a Stereo? I think Dad has one that plays large black discs called LP's - is yours the same? Someone must have put a spell on your cousin or something! And your uncle gone. Now that's just weird!  
  
Right, gotta go - see you soon!  
  
Ron  
  
******  
  
He smiled briefly. Well, at least he had chocolate for now. He cast a sideways look at the book. And Occlumency.  
  
Harry swallowed. He wasn't sure even if he wanted to touch the book, let alone read it. It would just remind him of how he had failed.  
  
Of how he still dreamt sick dreams, had sick visions. The difference was he deserved them now, for what he'd done.  
  
Almost too clearly he could hear the sound of Snape laughing, as he had in his vision. Harry felt a flare of anger. He had actually apologised to that man in his vision! Apologised! What madness was that?  
  
He scowled and turned his back on the book. And in doing so his eyes fell on his bedside table. And his glasses.  
  
His glasses? He snatched them up and looked at them. Gingerly he put them on. He screwed up his eyes, and took them off again. And stared at them long and hard, feeling his heart beginning to thud like a hammer in his chest.  
  
He licked his lips nervously, and began to tremble.  
  
His eyesight was corrected. 


	7. Polar Opposites Confuse

He needed more whiskey.  
  
No - he would have to tell Dumbledore!  
  
Harry felt a huge chill go through him. Dumbledore, whose eyes he had just seen glow red.  
  
So - was the vision real then? Was Dumbledore in danger, or was that man really Voldemort? Or was it simply a dream, showing Harry how much he really trusted the Headmaster now after the events just six weeks ago. Did he subconsciously feel his trust to be that badly betrayed?  
  
The teenager was grateful he now had another way of finding out the truth about what he had really seen. There was no need to go careering the length of the country on Thestral-back. Voldemort wouldn't catch him out twice.  
  
Harry shooed Pig onto Hedwig's cage, wrenched open his bedside drawer and took out a magnifying glass. He then turned his attention to his wristwatch. To everyone else this looked like an ordinary Muggle sports watch, but this couldn't be further from the truth.  
  
With trembling fingers Harry gently began to twist the outer dial ninety degrees anti-clockwise, then two hundred and seventy degrees clockwise, and finally ninety degrees anti-clockwise.  
  
Almost immediately the face began to frost over. Harry waited as the numbers and hands disappeared from view. Then, just as had happened after the other dreams, Harry found himself looking at a rather uninteresting looking compass face, with its four main directions, and the bright red end of the needle pointing North.  
  
But of course, as this wasn't an ordinary watch, it wasn't an ordinary compass either. Harry pressed a thumb to the compass face and whispered the password.  
  
'Doth mine eye - dream, see or lie?'  
  
With baited breath he picked up the magnifying glass and peered at the compass through it.  
  
The needle began to tremble, but did not change direction. Steadying his arm against the cabinet Harry moved the glass away, further magnifying the face, and particularly focusing on the large black 'N' which indicated North.  
  
'Show me - is Professor Dumbledore in danger?'  
  
Immediately the 'N' began to glow green.  
  
And Harry let out a huge sigh of relief. Green meant a dream. Dumbledore was safe.  
  
Harry then stared at the other compass points. To an onlooker this would seem very strange, but then they were not to know that there was a wizard's name written in microscopic handwriting inside every single compass point mark.  
  
This compass watch had originally been a rare talisman. Confiscated many years ago by the ministry, Kingsley Shacklebolt had managed to transfigure it into a wristwatch and sneak it out. It had then had a group of Hogwarts' wizards cast a series of complex spells on it to link each wizard to each compass point. It had taken above a month to complete, but it had stopped any more false alarms.  
  
Harry now relied on this to help him separate his dreams from his visions (Which could now sometimes be eerily similar if Voldemort was feeling particularly sadistic,) and he was still very much in awe of it. The way it was set out reminded Harry a bit of the Weasley's grandfather clock. Except this compass was set up for detecting danger, and not revealing where people were.  
  
Albus Dumbledore was written inside the 'N,' of course, and at each side on the smaller notches were names of other Hogwarts' teachers, order members and parents.  
  
Huddled around the 'E' of Neville Longbottom were DA members and classmates.  
  
Strangely enough, Harry noticed his aunt's name claimed the 'W,' while his uncle and Dudley took up the notches northwards and southwards of it.  
  
And Southwards was where strange got stranger. In a way it did make some sense, Dumbledore being North and all. But even so, why should that man be apart from all the other Hogwarts' staff and order members? Harry couldn't help scowling as he read the name Severus Snape curved around the bends in the 'S' marking due south.  
  
Git.  
  
And ditto to the small notch just to the left of him too. Draco Malfoy.  
  
Ferret git.  
  
Harry felt his eyes protest from squinting into the magnifying glass. If anything it appeared he didn't have perfect vision after all. Writing seemed to blur the closer he held the watch to his face.  
  
Harry scowled. Would this mean he would need reading glasses now? Fate really had a twisted sense of humour.  
  
So - what was the explanation for his eyes? There was only so much blame to be placed on the whiskey.  
  
Was the talisman malfunctioning? Surely not - he'd only had it two weeks!  
  
Maybe he should check anyway, just in case.  
  
Or - maybe it wasn't Dumbledore in danger. There had been another in his dream after all - another professor who had played more than a bit part.  
  
For a long moment Harry hesitated. What if Snape was in danger?  
  
Harry scoffed to himself. Why would Snape be in danger?  
  
And that little annoying voice in his head just had to reply to this, of course. 'Because Snape is a spy.'  
  
Harry shrugged. Spies were always in danger - if film portrayals were anything to go by, they practically ate danger for breakfast. And mortality rates were high. Dumbledore would just have to get a new Potions Master.  
  
It really was as plain as that in Harry's head. Snape would have let Sirius die back in third year. Two could play at ruthlessness.  
  
'Ah, but he didn't a few weeks ago,' hissed the voice. 'He informed the Order. Decoded your message.'  
  
'Probably left it as late as possible. Told Kreacher to lie.' muttered Harry.  
  
Harry growled. He had caught himself talking out loud again. It was growing into a rather embarrassing habit. One he tried not to do in front of people, in case they thought he was going loopy.  
  
Maybe he was?  
  
But letting Snape die by ignoring a nightmare? Harry almost screamed in frustration as the pensieve memory began to replay in his head, as it had done too many times, relentlessly.  
  
Damn that memory! It had done its awful work in making Snape human. For making Harry discover that he could feel empathy for the man, could begin to understand him, at the cost of shattering his unshakeable belief in his father.  
  
Harry closed his eyes. His father. His father may have been cruel to him, but he never wanted Snape to die. And if there was one thing Harry was afraid of, it was more deaths.  
  
He shivered. He was sure he couldn't handle any more deaths! It felt bad enough having to use whiskey to relax. And thank Merlin for Dudley's company. It was basic enough, but it had made all the difference between suffering and going mad since the end of school.  
  
Letting out a bitter sigh Harry squinted once more through the magnifying glass.  
  
'Show me - is Snape in danger?'  
  
The needle trembled. Harry blinked. The 'S' was glowing a colour which Harry had only ever seen the South -West marker glow. And the 'SW' marker on this compass had Tom Riddle etched into it.  
  
Harry paled. The 'N' still glowed red, but the 'S' was glowing blue. This meant that, just like the scenes Harry suffered through Voldemort's eyes, Snape creeping up on him in the Dursleys' hallway, was true.  
  
The sick dream was not completely a dream. Some of it actually happened.  
  
Harry dropped the magnifying glass on to his bed and went to examine his hands closely. His gaze didn't linger long on them, though. It didn't take long to confirm one more thing.  
  
Now his gaze was resting on his bedroom door.  
  
****  
  
Several shots of malt whiskey later the thunderstorm had quietened down. This had the effect of winding up the tiny owl, who had only moments before seemed fast asleep.  
  
Harry had ignored Pig at first, being quite happy to sit there working himself into a stupor once again while the little sneezing bundle fluttered around the shelves to dig about among the broken toys.  
  
But after a while the owl's scratching got louder. It sounded like he was bringing up a pellet. But the noise continued on from that, and developed into series of snorts and odd retching noises, which became so pronounced Harry was forced to investigate.  
  
Once he had removed the jigsaw piece, and a small Christmas bauble that had got wedged in the over-inquisitive owl's throat, Harry decided he'd had enough of sickly owl-sitting and scrawled a brief note to Ron thanking him for the card, and suggested he ought to have his owl checked over.  
  
As he shooed Pig out of the window Harry's mind could have been hoping that Pig wouldn't cough up any jigsaw owl pellets once he got back to his owners.  
  
But it was far more likely that his mind was running over the same idea. Again and again.  
  
Absent-mindedly, Harry traced his thumb over the palm of his hand. Over rows of fading indentations which had likely been caused by gripping hard onto something spiky or bristly-  
  
The scroll. Where was that scroll?  
  
______________ A/N: Thanks reviewers! Don't worry - there is a method in my madness! I have the plot worked out, this chapter will make sense. ;-) Next chapter: Harry questions can't wait 'til morning. And someone else is considering the whiskey. 


	8. The Aftermath and the Offer

A/N: Excuse the 'Next chapter' summary on the previous chapter. I'll get back to Harry in the next chapter! (If that makes sense?) -snicker-  
  
_______________________________________  
  
It was still in the small hours of the thirty first of August. The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts was oddly silent. It had been a rather strange night, and it was clear that it wasn't about to get any less stranger.  
  
In a chair behind the large desk in said office, the Headmaster himself sat quietly rubbing his frowning brow in deep thought. Directly across from him, slumped awkwardly in a chair, the Potions Master of Hogwarts was also in deep thought. But wearing a very unpleasant, ill-natured scowl.  
  
To an onlooker the scene would appear even more disconcerting if they happened to glance around at the walls. For the people in the various portraits which hadn't fallen asleep were also looking either very serious or sullen. Even Dumbledore's pet Phoenix, Fawkes looked as if he was about to start plucking his feathers out.  
  
A weary sigh from Dumbledore finally broke the brooding silence. 'So, ah, Severus. Do you have anything to report, from earlier today?'  
  
The dark robed wizard seemed slightly grateful for the question. His scowl lightened.  
  
'As it happens Headmaster, no. Narcissa maintains that there is no indication that the Dark Lord is planning to storm Azkaban. It appears he is most - displeased - at the display of incompetency in the ministry.' Severus smirked. 'I believe he referred to it as a dumb farce.'  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he peered over his half-moon glasses at his employee. 'Have you spoken with Lucius recently?'  
  
Severus began to look smug. 'Why, I believe I had a few - words - with him, yes.'  
  
The Headmaster coughed awkwardly and seemed a little embarrassed. 'Indeed. Ah, well. You already know that you have no need to go to such lengths to convince-'  
  
'Lucius is after my blood now, Dumbledore!' snapped Severus. 'I cannot simply waltz in to Azkaban and reveal my identity to a person who believes that I was the reason he ended up in there! And besides, the guards only admit certain visitors.'  
  
'A very good point.' mused the Headmaster. 'Indeed. And how does Narcissa view your choice of - ah - disguise?'  
  
Severus tried to hold back a smirk. 'She finds the situation rather interesting, if not to say - flattering.'  
  
'She doesn't mind?'  
  
'Why should she mind?' was the indignant reply. 'She has been waiting for years to gain more influence over her son. She thought herself fortunate enough to have him enrolled at Hogwarts and not Durmstrang.'  
  
'Point made,' the Headmaster coughed awkwardly. It hadn't been the point he'd been looking for.  
  
Inwardly he found himself recoiling a little. He had changed with the times, but when it came to certain things he was essentially at heart still a Victorian wizard. These youngsters were so much more open-minded! Well, if Narcissa clearly wasn't bothered about Severus' undercover antics, then-  
  
Draco? Oh, Merlin's beard, this must never reach the poor lad's ears. Did Severus have a conscience?  
  
Dumbledore decided a slight change of subject was due.  
  
'And so, how is the situation seen by the inmates?'  
  
'The living conditions, naturally, don't agree with Malfoy's penchant for the grandiose. So of course he is quite beside himself.'  
  
'I can imagine. Poor Mr. Malfoy,' was the mild reply.  
  
'He knows of the Dark Lord's dissatisfaction, and is, of course distraught that his connections in the political world may have been marred by his public outing as a Deatheater.' Severus raised an eyebrow and looked the Headmaster right in the eye. 'The emphasis being of course, on the word 'may."  
  
Dumbledore frowned. 'Then there is little doubt that Cornelius has the Ministry deeply embroiled in less savoury, extra-curricular activities. The donations to the cause must have been sizeable indeed.'  
  
'One or two galleons, perhaps,' muttered Severus ironically. 'But the Malfoys, as you know, are extremely discreet when it comes to leaving records of their financial transactions.'  
  
'As ever. Anything else notable?'  
  
The younger wizard shuffled in his chair, and gritted his teeth. 'Only that Malfoy has recently gained an inkling that the Dark Lord might have been suspicious of his loyalty to him for some time.'  
  
'But I trust you were careful all last year Severus?' remarked the Headmaster in a concerned tone. 'Your Occlumens skills are pliable enough to-'  
  
'Yes, yes!' he hissed back. 'I have known Lucius for many years. I am quite capable of posing as him! As he is unable to penetrate my defences I am certain I didn't arouse the Dark Lord's suspicion.'  
  
'So you are confident that Voldemort still believes Lucius was spending a marked amount of time with a Hogwarts Teacher purely to gain information, and not - perhaps - to betray him in turn?'  
  
Severus paled slightly under his employer's piercing gaze. 'I admit,' he muttered quietly. 'That there may have been one time where the routine didn't go quite - as I'd planned.'  
  
The expression on the old wizard's face turned graver. 'In what way, Severus?'  
  
'The mark burned unexpectedly one evening, as you know,' began the hushed explanation. 'A week before the fracas at the Ministry. I happened to be visiting Knockturn Alley. I had attended the Lord's meeting before as Lucius, and as this summoning was wholly unexpected, we had not had time to arrange whether Lucius or I would attend.'  
  
'I decided to apparate immediately to Malfoy Manor to check. Lucius was delaying answering the Lord's summons too. After a few words we decided that he should attend the meeting that night in person.'  
  
Severus paused. Dumbledore noted that the younger wizard was looking rather more distracted than usual.  
  
'As you know also, Lucius remarked - perhaps too casually - when he next saw me, that the Dark Lord had duly rewarded his tardiness with a bout of Cruciatus.'  
  
Another pause. Dumbledore nodded, and urged the explanation on.  
  
'But - as I have discovered through my recent undercover work, he declined to tell me that Pettigrew apparated to the Lord's side a short while after he did. And was rewarded, not punished for it.'  
  
Dumbledore peered worriedly at his Potions Master. 'What are Lucius' suspicions?'  
  
'Not favourable. Considering that Malfoy Manor is not rat proof.'  
  
'Spy versus spy,' whispered Dumbledore.  
  
'Quite,' muttered Severus sourly.  
  
'Could Voldemort suspect Narcissa of being in on our conspiracy?'  
  
'I am not certain. But with Pettigrew being the small animagus he is. Possibly.'  
  
Dumbledore sighed deeply. 'Then I trust you are aware of the seriousness of the situation. It now appears likely that the reason Voldemort has not taken steps to free his imprisoned Deatheaters, stems from his suspicion of their loyalties.'  
  
Severus sneered, as if he considered the Headmaster's explanation to be an insult to his intelligence. 'What do you propose I do now?'  
  
'Well, now we come to it,' was the muttered reply. 'I know you won't agree with my decision Severus, so I will just plough ahead and announce it anyway.'  
  
He cleared his throat to try and get his employee's attention, which had begun to wander. 'I cannot let you continue with your objective now your cover may well be blown. There is too much risk involved.'  
  
'What?!' The Potion Master's head snapped round, his eyes glittering.  
  
'You heard me perfectly well, Severus,' he remarked lightly. 'To use the Malfoys henceforward as a source of information is probably unwise if Voldemort suspects them.'  
  
'I happen to trust Narcissa!' exclaimed Severus indignantly.  
  
Dumbledore smiled. 'As I do, Severus.' The smile faded. 'But I cannot extend the trust to certain people she is required to associate with.'  
  
The Potions Master looked sullen. 'I gave her my word that I would look out for her son's best interests.'  
  
'So you did,' was the heavy reply. 'So you did.'  
  
Dumbledore sank into thought. After a short while he was snapped out of it by an odd snigger. He looked up to find Severus grinning at him oddly.  
  
'And to think I had considered myself to be risking my neck last year,' he sneered. 'It is all going to be so much more fun this September.'  
  
Dumbledore's grave look returned. 'Severus.' he sighed. 'You are not going to like this, but please use some forbearance. The situation is such that I now cannot let you return as Potions Master this Autumn.'  
  
'I.' His jaw hung open. For once Severus Snape was rendered incapable of disparaging comment.  
  
'Oh, please do not worry about your students,' continued the Headmaster lightly. 'I believe I already know of a suitable candidate for the post. He's been applying for your position for years actually. Very blithe, eager chap.'  
  
'What! That.no.HIM!' The younger wizard clamped his jaw shut, hardly believing what he was hearing. What the Headmaster was implying - surely he was dreaming this time?  
  
'He was in your year, wasn't he?' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'A Ravenclaw though.'  
  
Snape seethed. It was possible that he even saw red. He looked down at the floor and took in several rasped breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Finally he managed to speak.  
  
'I presume this is the end for me then?' came the bitter rasp. 'I suppose I expected to outlive my use someday. Oh, but perhaps not as caretaker.' he sneered, his voice rising. 'An INSPIRED use of my expertise - mopping the floors! Seeing as I can't leave the castle now, can I? Too dangerous - for me and a certain precious someone!!'  
  
'Severus-'  
  
'What, you raving old fool? WHAT?!' snarled Snape. 'And feel free to sack me now while you're at it! Why wait until September!?'  
  
He sprang up and stalked toward the door. 'I shall pack immediately. For one thing I am not letting that new buffoon employee of yours have any of my more valuable potion ingredients. He can damn well buy his own!' he shrieked.  
  
'Severus, will you stand still and hear me out!?' rounded off Dumbledore sharply.  
  
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Snape whirled round and fixed his iciest stare onto the Headmaster. 'Why?!'  
  
'Come, sit down. I hadn't finished speaking.'  
  
'Sounded as if you had!' came the snappish response.  
  
Dumbledore waited until the other lowered himself sulkily back into his chair before speaking. His tone was gentle. 'Severus. Do you know the whereabouts of your brother?'  
  
Snape stiffened. 'As I said earlier - after the whole Potter fiasco - I absolutely refuse to become involved-'  
  
'Do you know the whereabouts of your brother?'  
  
Snape felt the full force of the Headmaster's piercing, ice blue gaze. He glared back, but could not hold it for long. He dropped the glare and sighed bitterly.  
  
'Not exactly.'  
  
'He is quite unwell, isn't he?'  
  
'I believe he is, yes,' said Snape, sounding cool and unconcerned.  
  
'I need you to visit him tomorrow.'  
  
Severus' fingers gripped tightly into the chair arms. 'What use would that do?' he snapped. 'The bastard's in a coma!'  
  
'Much use, Severus. I need you to take a few samples.'  
  
The younger wizard's eyes widened. 'Oh, no. No, no-'  
  
'If you do this, I have a very worthwhile offer I know you would definitely consider, Severus.'  
  
Dumbledore smiled. That had got the Slytherin's attention. Slytherins couldn't resist deals.  
  
'And what offer would that be?' said Snape slowly, his black eyes gleaming with interest.  
  
Dumbledore paused for effect.  
  
Fawkes stopped plucking out his feathers and fixed a beady eye on his owner.  
  
The pictures around the walls, even the ones that were sleeping, stopped snoring for a moment to listen in.  
  
'What if I were to offer you the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?'  
  
_____  
  
A/N: Aha! ;-) An offer Severus Snape can't refuse - if canon rumours are to be believed! (For Snape's motive toward using the term 'new buffoon employee' to describe the new Potions Master, please see 16 Year Old Hangover Part One ;-) 


	9. Breaking rules, Overstepping Lines

'Snape was in this house - Snape was in this house,' muttered Harry. 'Ugh, SNAPE was in this BLOODY house! Oh, Merlin - I apologised. What the -'  
  
No - the room wasn't going round. He'd only had a few.  
  
Five actually. He reckoned. And course it wasn't.  
  
What should he do about the scroll? Harry tried to visualise the faces he'd seen on it. And of his own. It had to be real. There - plain as can be, were the marks on his hand caused by the pink hairbrush bristles. His eyesight.  
  
This was real.  
  
But the past few weeks had been so surreal - everything seemed blurred together. Dudley's stuff he'd got was grown by one of his friends and it was pretty strong - and if Harry wasn't busy getting mashed on it he was drunk. In between all that had been several visions kindly sent to him by a very angry Voldemort.  
  
Harry had been too distressed following Sirius' death to reconsider Occlumency. His anger and distress had actually made his visions worse. This is the reason why the order had made him the talisman. And the visions had been bad.  
  
One had been Lupin being stabbed by Wormtail, his silver hand morphing into a shining sword, like he'd seen in a film once. Another had been of a stony faced Draco throwing dark curses at Hermione. Curses that were too terrible to think about.  
  
And then his dreams were no better. Never mind the hallucinations. Most of them had people dying in them. Harry also had awful sensations of falling from his broomstick or being petrified and helpless.  
  
Or being shut alone in the Department of Mysteries without his wand, the doors all around him. But he would run round and open every one, getting more and more frightened - behind each door was the same thing - the same terrible truth.  
  
Harry shuddered. Maybe he could take a look at that Occlumency book?  
  
But this was real. The talisman said so. No amount of Occlumency would help here.  
  
Which was why it made sense getting wasted. To make it more bearable.  
  
But what to do afterwards?  
  
Hedwig maybe? No - she was out hunting. She wouldn't be in for another couple of hours. Damn. And he'd only just sent two owls off! Where was an owl when you needed one!  
  
Harry snorted at his own joke. He was feeling rather reckless now. He knew there was always a member of the Order on watch somewhere on Privet Drive. But he wasn't supposed to talk to them because he'd blow their cover.  
  
He had found out how they stood sentry only by accident - he'd heard snoring one day when going for a walk, and had located it to One Privet Drive's flowerbed, where he had nearly fallen over the invisible shape of a sunbathing Mundungus Fletcher.  
  
Harry staggered over to the window, steadied himself with the desk and leaned out. The air smelt strongly of fresh rainfall. The estate had fallen silent, except for the faint noise of the distant motorway and trickling drainpipes.  
  
'Pssssst!'  
  
Harry strained his ears. He tried again a little louder.  
  
'Oi!'  
  
'Hell - o? Hello?'  
  
Silence.  
  
After ten seconds Harry sighed. Pulling the window shut he turned round.  
  
SMASH!!  
  
His heart shot to his throat as he instinctively ducked. A stone whizzed past, narrowly missing his head. Bits of glass clattered all over his desk and skittered everywhere.  
  
Harry grabbed his wand from his bedside table and turned round. The window pane was splintered, with a golf ball sized hole in the middle of it. Harry's gazed at it in shock, before turning to his bed - it wasn't a golf ball, but a similar sized stone.  
  
Harry unfroze and picked his way around the glass to the window. Gingerly he opened the window again and peered out, his wand poised to attack.  
  
No one. The street was as before.  
  
Harry scowled. Probably one of Dudley's mates having a laugh. But now Aunt Petunia would blame him for breaking the window.  
  
Just then Harry heard a muffled giggle. But before his eyes had pinpointed exactly where it was coming from, a hushed voice had spoken up.  
  
'Ooh dear - clumsy me! Oh, Harry - I'm so, so sorry!'  
  
'TONKS!' exclaimed Harry in relief.  
  
'Shhhh - shhh - sh!' giggled the young witch, trying to keep her voice hushed, but mostly failing. 'D-don't wake - the street! One sec - I'm coming up!'  
  
Harry grinned. Nymphadora Tonks was on watch tonight. A young witch who hated her first name, preferring to be called just 'Tonks.'  
  
SHH-CRACK!  
  
She ruffled the grinning teen's hair before gazing round and giggling at the mess. 'Sorry mate! I tried to do that thing I saw on Muggle telly, you know to get people's attention?'  
  
'Er - I think the stone was just a little bit big,' smiled Harry.  
  
'I suppose the charm I used was a bit too strong too! Oh, well Happy Birthday!'  
  
Suddenly there was a sharp rap on Harry's bedroom door and Petunia burst in, wearing a fuchsia pink dressing gown. A set of curlers held her hair tight to her head. Her horsy teeth were bared in silent rage.  
  
It was quite a scary sight.  
  
'What do you think you are doing?!' she hissed. 'You're lucky poor Dudders hasn't woken. And my window! How DARE-' she trailed off as she saw a strawberry haired witch peering curiously at her, and paled at least three shades whiter.  
  
'Yeep!'  
  
'Hullo! You must be Mrs Dursley. I'm Tonks - pleased to meet you,' gabbled Tonks leaping forward and extending her hand in greeting.  
  
Petunia stepped back and let out a strangled sound.  
  
'Oh!' Tonks giggled, blushing. 'I'm sorry about the window Mrs Dursley. I'll just fix it for you.' Tonks swung round, and whipped out her wand. 'Reparo!'  
  
Petunia watched wide-eyed as the shards of glass jumped back off the floor and desk back into the window, as if in reverse motion. The cracks shrunk back into the centre. The pane of glass sparkled like new.  
  
'There we go!' Tonks beamed. 'And I actually got it right this time. The last one I tried to fix was a patio door. Overdid it a bit I'd say. The glass turned to a pile of sand!' she giggled. 'The place looked like a beach!'  
  
Harry noticed his aunt was gawping like a fish, and seemed ready to faint. 'Er, Aunt Petunia, why don't you go back to bed?' he suggested awkwardly.  
  
As if in a daze, she blinked. Maybe she was dreaming? Yes, that was it - and she would wake up shortly. If she just walked out of this room, maybe she could pretend she never dreamt it?  
  
'There you go, just out there now. That's it,' urged Harry, herding Petunia out of the door.  
  
'Nice aunt,' commented Tonks once Harry had got rid of her.  
  
'Not as bad as she used to be,' was the muttered reply.  
  
'Sheesh, poor you.' Harry shrugged at her. Tonks scratched her head. 'So, where's that beefy Unc of yours then?'  
  
'He's got a flat in Guildford, apparently,' said Harry quietly. 'Aunt and Uncle have split up.  
  
Tonks frowned. 'Split up?'  
  
'Divorced,' explained Harry. 'Not living together.'  
  
'Oh, I think I've heard of that,' remarked Tonks. 'Was it an arranged marriage?'  
  
'No. Why?' Harry was confused.  
  
'Oh sorry mate, I forget Muggles do it differently!' Tonks smiled. 'The old richer pureblood fogies in our world still try to set up marriages between their kids.'  
  
'Oh my God!' mouthed Harry, aghast.  
  
'Sometimes it doesn't go too well. But as the sort of families who do it are well off, the house is usually big enough, so a narky married couple can avoid each other quite easily!'  
  
'Do wizards divorce?' enquired Harry.  
  
'Very rarely. So we'd better be careful who we choose, ay Harry,' she winked back.  
  
Harry had a brief vision of being married to Cho there. Mrs Cho Potter crying into her husband's shoulder.  
  
He decided to change the subject. 'So, where have you been watching the telly?'  
  
'Arabella's, waiting for the shift change. Cor, Harry - her cats! The place pongs a bit, doesn't it?'  
  
'Just a bit,' he agreed wryly.  
  
'Now,' said Tonks, suddenly going more serious. 'You know I'm supposed to stay invisible on watch - and I've probably broken a zillion rules.' She grinned. 'But as it's your birthday I thought I'd come in and say hi.' She punched his shoulder playfully.  
  
'Yeah thanks!' Harry tried his best to keep his smile, but his thoughts ended up dragging the ends of his mouth down. Tonks noticed and her smile faded.  
  
'Aw, wassa matter?'  
  
Harry turned away slightly. 'It's nothing. But - er - Tonks?'  
  
'Yes Harry?'  
  
'You didn't see Snape earlier, did you? Hanging about this house, or anything?'  
  
Tonks pulled a face. 'Er - no. The Prince of Slipperyness doesn't do sentry duty. Dumbledore reckons it would be a bit dodgy for him, you know?'  
  
Harry nodded. It made perfect sense. As well as the fact that Snape hated his guts even more now, and the feeling was mutual. Why would he stand guard over 'Potter?'  
  
But-  
  
'It makes sense. But it doesn't,' Harry mumbled. 'I-' he trailed off. How to explain it all without solid evidence? It was a totally insane story. Tonks would think he was going nutty!  
  
And if Tonks didn't know about it maybe only Dumbledore and Snape knew apart from him?  
  
And what had happened after he had turned to glare at Snape in Dumbledore's office? Why did he wake up back in his room? Was he stunned? Who took his scroll?  
  
More whiskey.  
  
Harry decided to put on an act for a while. He punched Tonks playfully back. She dodged and made a grab for his hair again. Harry laughed as she missed. She got hold of one of his pillows and began to swing it at him. Harry dodged the first two swings, but there was a cackle of glee as the third whumped him round the side of the head.  
  
Once the feathers had settled and they had both stopped sniggering he made his way over to the door. 'Err- I'm just going to the loo. I'll be right back.'  
  
Tonks plonked herself on the bed, throwing the pillow aside. 'Okay. But wait a second.' She frowned.  
  
Harry blinked as the mischievous face changed into a stern one. And in a reasonable Scottish accent, Tonks breezed a stern, 'And don't you be getting yourself into any more trouble, laddie! You'll be having a few words with me if Gryffindor doesn't win the House Cup for the sixth year in a row!'  
  
Harry couldn't help sniggering at Tonks' uncanny impression - complete with tartan scarf. 'No Professor McGonagall.'  
  
He crossed the landing as quietly as a drunk teenager could, and gripping the stair banister firmly, began to sway his way down the stairs yet again.  
  
********************************  
  
Severus Snape, the recently sacked Potion's Master and even more recently employed DADA Teacher sat in what could only be described as a bewildered daze.  
  
Had he just agreed to one of Dumbledore's deals just like that? Was he insane? Criminally, maybe. Certified, and self-confessed, probably. Dumbledore knew exactly what strings to pull.  
  
All around the pictures were still staring at Dumbledore in a state of shock. Feeling the weight of so many staring eyes the headmaster cleared his throat awkwardly.  
  
'Ahem.'  
  
The noise caused Snape to blink and focus back onto his employer. A frown began to darken his sharp features.  
  
Dumbledore sensed that the younger wizard was waiting for clarification. 'I think I ought to run through the finer details of the agreement,' he began lightly.  
  
'I think you ought,' replied Snape jerkily. 'You turn me down for the position for years with some half-baked, so-called valid reason. But now it seems you are quite happy to bargain it away and give my job to a class 'A' twit. If half the foundations for this castle still exist by this time next year, I shall be extremely surprised,' he added with a sneer.  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. 'Sharpe will not blow up your beloved dungeons Severus, and you know it. You two are the likely best potion brewers for miles around. And that is counting your old Potions Professor. Janus is rather too old to teach now, poor chap. He was positively ancient when he took his last class in '81.'  
  
'And you sound really distraught about losing me,' hissed Snape bitterly, still trapped in his dark mood. 'I'll bet you wanted Sharpe teaching your potion lessons for years. And now something more - convenient - has come up you can offload me into the cursed job and have the jinx finish me off before the year's through!'  
  
Dumbledore frowned. 'Severus, stop this rubbish,' he said sternly. 'I'll have your paranoid fancies know I wanted nothing of the sort. You needed that potion's position as much as I needed you. Sharpe is an impressive brewer, but he is little good at much else.' Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle as he pulled out a small paper bag of lemon drops from an inside pocket of his robes. 'You, however, Severus, are a first rate con man, as well as a first rate potion brewer.'  
  
Snape allowed himself a smirk. The sly old sod acted the fool, but he still knew how to compliment.  
  
'So - are we going to discuss the sudden return to health of a certain dark- haired daredevil?'  
  
Snape looked rather sour at first, but made an effort to stifle it. 'As it seems I have little choice.'  
  
Dumbledore looked sad. 'I know that this is not going to be easy for you my boy. But-'  
  
'Cut the sympathy!' snarled Snape. You know I don't give a damn about the blasted fool! He chose to risk his life chasing creatures over half the world's seas. Serves him right he was drowned by one!'  
  
Half the world's seas? 'Wouldn't that make three and a half?' thought Dumbledore to himself. How can you sail half a sea? But maybe there were more seas to make an even number, and it was just the name of the Cod Liver Oil brand was confusing him. He blinked, realising that Snape was still glaring. His mind must have wandered again - where was he? Ah, yes - Snape's brother, near drowning.  
  
'Oh,' said Dumbledore frowning. 'I thought his injuries were due to a rather ill timed meeting with a Rakshasa in Jaipur?'  
  
'H'm - Claudius once told me he thought the lad might have been kicked by a Shedu,' remarked a casual voice from the corner.  
  
'Will you shut up!' snarled Snape whipping his head round to glare at Phineas Nigellus.  
  
'I take it the circumstances surrounding your brother's current condition are not as clear as I thought,' said Dumbledore gently.  
  
'No!' snapped Snape. He took several breaths in attempt to calm himself. 'Why should it matter anyway? How it happened doesn't change anything. He was far too reckless - he deserved it.'  
  
'I don't think your mother would have agreed,' muttered Dumbledore.  
  
'Oh but Father would!' spat Snape viciously.  
  
Dumbledore rose an eyebrow, but chose not to comment further. He knew he was on rocky ground discussing the complexities of Snape's family politics. Time to change the subject again.  
  
'So - we will be needing Norwegian Ridgeback blood for this,' he began carefully. 'I trust you know a reliable trader down Knockturn Alley who would be willing to order it?'  
  
Snape snorted. 'Oh, Dumbledore, here you are blithely skipping into a discussion about dark magic. It is addictive don't you know?' he remarked mockingly. 'You'll feel like performing darker and darker rituals, and before you know it the Ministry will be after your head!'  
  
The smirk twisted into a sneer. 'Oh, pardon me - but wasn't that your excuse for keeping me out of a certain job vacancy for so many years?'  
  
'Have you ever thought about bottling up your vitriol and marketing it as an effective cure for persistent happiness?' returned Dumbledore wryly.  
  
'What?!'  
  
'In jest, Severus. In jest,' he chuckled. 'I kept you from the position because of public suspicion. It wouldn't have been wise to have you teaching that then, and you know it.'  
  
'No indeed - better to fill it with Werewolves, madmen and barmy old hags,' was the sly reply.  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. 'But all will be different next year.'  
  
'Correction: I will be all different next year,' returned Snape sourly. 'The joy of designer stubble will be mine.'  
  
'So it may.'  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster's jovial expression. 'You do know the whole process will be rather painful?'  
  
'Yes, Severus. But as your students have long been aware you have a rather positive attitude toward pain and suffering.'  
  
Snape sneered. 'Ever the comedian.'  
  
'But before you do anything, I must ask you to check back at Privet Drive. I fear we might have moved Harry a little too swiftly.'  
  
'On the contrary, I'm sure he'll have not suspected a thing,' was the smirked reply. 'I added a section of dream to the end of it all. He will wake up, check the talisman, it will point to a dream, and return to sleep. End of matter.'  
  
Dumbledore frowned. 'And this dream fragment you used. It was from a recurring dream of yours, was it not?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Ah. Poor Harry. What frightful dreams you have Severus. Me with those awful glowing red eyes, is this your subconscious telling you not to trust me?'  
  
Snape muttered something incomprehensible.  
  
'I suppose it is only your nature. I do not blame you my boy. But Harry is pretty sharp,' continued Dumbledore. 'What if he has asked the talisman about you?'  
  
The younger wizard snorted. 'And why would he do that? The icy looks Potter gives me are only a step down from the Dark Lord's now.' He laughed dryly. 'If I am not on Potter's most wanted list after last year, I shall be most surprised.'  
  
Dumbledore rose an amused eyebrow. 'Oh, really? Then I suppose you will have to endure being 'most surprised' for the second time in two hours.' He pointed a long and bony finger to a small contraption on his desk. 'This little fellow is showing me that Harry has actually consulted the talisman twice this night.'  
  
Snape scowled in surprise.  
  
'And that little contraption here,' he pointed to another flimsy wire object, 'shows that the Privet Drive sentry is currently in the Dursley's property, which is a direct disregard of my orders. So you see, all these, 'nasty little gew-gaws' as you term them do actually have their uses.'  
  
'Fine, fine!' snapped Snape, rising from his chair. 'Where's that damned Portkey!'  
  
'Oh, and one more thing Severus,' warned Dumbledore as he opened the draw containing the magic hairbrush. 'Take Harry with you as you go to collect the samples tomorrow. He needs to know the whole truth. Let him have all the time he needs to understand everything. It's a shock enough. But it is important that he understands that his father is alive, but that he may never get well.'  
  
Snape's face darkened. 'I'm not taking that brat anywhere!'  
  
'Oh yes you are Severus.'  
  
'I object!'  
  
'You object do you?' was the Headmaster's dangerously cool reply.  
  
*****************  
  
Harry licked his lips as he quietly opened the front door. He knew that Dudley kept a small amount of stuff in a small bag wedged up in the eaves of the porch. He took a flower pot and stood on it to reach it.  
  
Closing the door gently he swayed back into the dining room for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night. He took a fresh glass out of the top of the cabinet and swirled the bottle of whiskey. There was only an inch left.  
  
Had he really had that much?  
  
Oh well.  
  
Unscrewing the lid he tipped the whole bottle back and began to drink it as if it were lemonade.  
  
He barely got to swallow a gulp of it though before the bottle was suddenly rudely snatched out of his hand.  
  
'HEY!' Harry snarled whipping round to find himself staring into the irate eyes of his Potions Master.  
  
His eyes widened for a moment before he smirked. 'Very funny. Ha, ha - the Prince of Slipperyness himself. Very good work,' he crowed before poking Snape in the stomach with a finger. 'You slimy, slimy bastard you. He hee.'  
  
Snape looked positively murderous. 'You're disgustingly drunk, Potter. I will be informing your Head of House about your out of term behaviour!' he barked, baring his teeth.  
  
'Oh ho!' crowed Harry, the giggles beginning to take him over. He collapsed into the sofa - she was too good! 'Stop it Tonks! Stop it! You are too funny! Wheeoh! I think - I'm going - to - split - my sides inna - minute! Prince of Slipper-'  
  
'Potter!'  
  
'Ha ha ha! Ha! Oh please - stop pissing about!'  
  
'POT-'  
  
'Oh, so Harry DID see you!' came an exclamation from the dining room doorway. 'What are you doing here?'  
  
Harry clutched his side. He had a stitch. 'Tonks! That was great!' he wheezed. 'Oh Merlin, you'll have to teach me how to do that!'  
  
'Do what?' was the confused reply.  
  
'Do Snape so -' Harry stopped and opened his eyes. Standing over him was a very concerned looking Tonks, AND a very enraged Professor clutching a nearly empty bottle of whiskey.  
  
And Dudley's packet of cannabis.  
  
'Ah - shit.'  
  
********************************* A/N: Sorry about the wait for this chapter - so I've written a longer one!  
  
A couple of weird mythical creatures that were mentioned. ;-)  
  
RAKSHASA - humanoid tiger-demon from Hindu mythology. Evil, powerful creatures that delight in spreading fear, confusion, chaos, and destruction among human families and communities.  
  
SHEDU - This beast is from Assyrian-Babylonian mythology. It has a human's head, the body of a bull and wings. It guards temples and palaces. 


	10. A Hangover With Snape

He struggled to get up out of the chair, but Snape was looming over him in his most intimidating trademark bat manner. Harry coughed awkwardly 'Erm, excuse me professor, I think I'll just - '  
  
'Enough!' snapped Snape. 'Petrificus Totalus!'  
  
Harry's body went stiff, the scowl frozen on his face. Snape snorted. Silence - at last! He'd been dying to do something like that to the annoying brat for years!  
  
Pocketing his wand, he straightened up and turned his icy glare on Tonks. 'What in blasted hell has been going on in this place?' he hissed.  
  
Tonks glared back. She certainly wasn't taking any rubbish off the old potions bat. 'Well we're hardly having a rave Severus,' she said haughtily. 'I just got here. But apparently YOU might know better from what I've heard. I'm here to check up on Harry. The poor guy sounded pretty stressed out. And then, surprise, he mentioned you!'  
  
'I see.' Snape's eyes glittered menacingly. 'So - you decided to leave your post rather than inform others, Miss Tonks? I would have thought you'd have known better than to reveal your presence when on watch,' came his silky reply.  
  
'Inform others?' she exclaimed. Tonks rose her eyebrows, crossed her arms and pouted. 'Well - SOMEONE else here still hasn't informed me yet on how he's managed to upset a kid so much to make him desperate enough to shout out the window at nearly three in the morning!' she rushed out all in one angry breath. She drew her wand and flicked it at Harry. 'Finite Incantatem!'  
  
Harry unfroze, and looked at the arguing adults with widening eyes. Just as well Tonks was on one side of the sofa, and Snape the other. He would have to endure being sprayed with spit though - he was too tipsy this time to be very effective at managing yet another Black and Snape family peacekeeping effort.  
  
He did feel like cheering Tonks on though, but was scared to death about attracting Snape's attention.  
  
It was bad enough trying to keep that scroll out of Snape's clutches earlier. What would the professor do when he paused to examine the contents of the small plastic bag clutched between his pale fingers?  
  
Snape began to flare red. 'How DARE you override my spell!'  
  
Tonks rolled her eyes. 'Oh, take a chill pill old man,' she drawled. 'Term time - holiday time - morning, noon, night, you're always the same. Can't you give it a break?'  
  
Harry watched as Snape took the cheeky witch's bait and launched into another tirade of angry hissing. He sighed, if there really was 'no rest for the wicked,' he must have done something really monstrous in a past life to deserve a birthday like this!  
  
What he needed was a distraction.  
  
He tried to block out the standoff going on over his head and consider his options. Well, he had no wand, a woolly mouth from the alcohol, a dull pounding headache from his insomnia, and his eyes still felt weird from earlier.  
  
And no alcohol. Brilliant.  
  
He could always try being violently sick on Snape's boots. The room certainly was going round a bit more than it usually did, and it wouldn't exactly be hard to make himself feel queasy.  
  
In fact - after all that had happened he was surprised he didn't feel worse. Maybe he was immune to having a crap life?  
  
'I have no inclination and no need to explain what I am doing in this house - unlike you,' remarked Snape coolly, crossing his arms. 'However, while I am acting on the Headmaster's orders, you are insolently disobeying them.'  
  
Tonks scowled. The git had found the weak point in her argument and swooped in for the kill. How she would just love to slap that smug face!  
  
'And- you'll find I also have little to do with Potter's so-called 'stress,' continued the smooth tone, sensing victory was near. 'I believe there is a plethora of similar slang words to more accurately describe Potter's problem. A problem which I was sent here to take care of. Now, unless you also have a phial of sobriety potion on your person, I suggest you stand aside.'  
  
The young witch fumed. Where and when had she lost the argument?  
  
Harry flinched as a small yellow phial was promptly thrust in front of his nose.  
  
'Drink it.'  
  
Sulkily Harry took hold of the potion and uncorked it. Sober? He hadn't been sober in four days! How would he cope? He looked dazedly up at Snape, who glared back.  
  
'Bottoms up,' he mumbled to himself, before downing it in one. He coughed and spluttered, before pulling a face.  
  
Snape smirked. 'Did you identify the dominant ingredient Potter?'  
  
'Something disgusting?'  
  
'Perhaps. We covered this potion in year two. Basic, simple ingredients. But then again, it would depend on whether you were actually paying any attention.'  
  
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'What was it then?'  
  
Snape raised an impatient eyebrow. 'Why don't you look it up? It's not my job to teach you anything out of lesson hours.'  
  
Tonks glared at Snape. Harry glared at Snape. Snape smirked at them both.  
  
Harry felt the potion taking effect. Oh, Merlin, the morning after feeling now. Coupled with the worst headache he'd had in weeks. And Snape of all people standing malignantly over him.  
  
He groaned.  
  
'Pleasant hangover, Potter?' came the slap-deserving tone.  
  
Holding his head, Harry managed after several clumsy tries to get up from the sofa. Of course Snape wouldn't give him a hangover cure as well - his head felt as if he'd been banging his head against a wall for hours. Thank Merlin for the aspirins in the kitchen cupboard.  
  
As he began to cross the room, Snape moved as if to stop him.  
  
'Do you honestly want me to puke on you?' snapped Harry irritably.  
  
Well, that remark had the git moving.  
  
Harry opened the cupboard and squinted into the tray of medicines, almost blinded by the kitchen strip light. Finding what he needed he slouched across to the sink with a glass.  
  
As he listened to the tablets fizz while they dissolved, his mind wandered back to his aunt and cousin. Surely they can't have slept through that argument? Swirling the glass of water around he edged toward the door. From here he could just see an angry looking Tonks, her mouth was moving - but he couldn't hear her voice.  
  
Ah, the room probably had a silencing charm on it! Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. It was bad enough having Snape yelling at you, but thankfully that charm had saved him from encountering the wrath of a twice woken up Aunt Petunia as well.  
  
There was no need to worry about Dudley. Two spliffs later and an atom bomb wouldn't wake him up.  
  
Oh Merlin - the weed. Oh, he was dead. A potions teacher, and substance expert, no less, had hold of it. At the very least Snape would transfigure him into a cauldron and use him to brew the vile and putrescent Stinksap wart remedy. (Well, that was just an old rumour started by the Slytherins to terrify the first years. But as the rumour was about Snape - who knows?)  
  
Well, he could really do without any lecture on long-term mental health problems from a person who probably had long-term mental health problems thank you very much.  
  
Harry's gaze returned to the glass in his hand. The water was now a pale cloudy grey. Harry sipped at it, grimacing at the taste. Stone cold sober, barely four hours into his birthday. All he had been trying to forget suddenly seeming so much more serious.  
  
The prophecy. Sirius, Voldemort, the dreams, Snape, the scroll, the talisman, the change, Dumbledore.  
  
Sirius.  
  
Harry grimaced, his hand tightening around the glass. The full miserable reality of it all threatened to sweep over him again. But all the early rage was long gone, drained away into a depression. Now there was a wall of silence all around. Everything outside it didn't matter.  
  
If this was how coping should be, he would rather not do it.  
  
He leant back against the wall and slowly slid down it until he was crouched on the floor. There would be no need for any kind of fight, he would just stay here - in this kitchen. Watch the ants crawl in through the crack in the tile and wander about the floor picking up crumbs, day by day.  
  
Snape would come in and shout - but why would it matter? He would be content sitting here. The Dursleys didn't bother him now, after all. He would write a note to the order every few days, to tell them he was fine. Feed Hedwig. Ask Dudley to get more supplies. They could chill then, listen to music.  
  
The peace was swiftly intruded upon by the swish of black robes and the quiet step of black dragon hide boots. The boots strode purposefully across the kitchen floor and came to an abrupt halt barely an inch away from his bare toes, and a mere half inch away from the scuttling ant Harry had been tracking.  
  
'Get up from the floor Potter and go to bed.'  
  
Harry sighed absent mindedly. He watched as the ant put on a remarkable burst of speed, and begin to race around in little kamikaze circles, dangerously close to the professor's foot.  
  
'Potter.' came the dangerously low whisper. A leather capped boot tip began to tap impatiently on the tiles.  
  
Every muscle in his body felt so weak. He ached so much. His head, everything. The floor tiles were pleasantly cool. He could stay there till morning, or longer - hours, days. He didn't care.  
  
But Snape did.  
  
'Harry!'  
  
Harry's head shot up, his eyes suddenly afire. 'What?!' he hissed, his eyes boring into the impatient black ones high above him. 'Leave me alone! All of you! I never asked for all this! Why can't everyone just - Ahhhh!'  
  
As Harry's watch bleeped to announce 4am, a sensation like no other he'd ever felt shot through his entire body. It wasn't that painful at first - similar to the tingling he felt earlier. But after a few seconds the weird tingles stopped, and then came a sense that every muscle in his body was about to cramp. He gritted his teeth in grim anticipation.  
  
And then it came. Harry's yell turned into a sharp gasp as his body stiffened, went into spasm, then stiffened again. It was worse than Cruciatus in its own way. Like the sudden horror of the cramp which woke you up in the night. But worse.  
  
And all the while he couldn't help being oblivious as to what was happening around him.  
  
*************************  
  
Snape was almost at the end of his rather short fuse. He had managed to dismiss Tonks for the moment, but the meddlesome witch hadn't promised not to return soon. And now he was faced with a probable teenage alcoholic. Not that he hadn't dealt with one or two before.  
  
But-  
  
He held up the small plastic bag and sneered disdainfully. The contents were crude, compared to the wizard version, of course, but he could tell by the smell of it the stuff was brain-addlingly strong.  
  
Indeed, if you were going to try the Muggle counterpart of the obliviation spell, why not do it properly?  
  
Fuming, Snape swept into the kitchen to find the teenager hunched up on the floor, head bowed, an empty glass clutched in his hand.  
  
He threw his most malicious glower down at him. Despite his form now casting an ominous great shadow right over where he was sat, the boy still did not move.  
  
'Get up from the floor Potter [damn you] and go to bed.'  
  
No movement. He tapped his toe in frustration. Time to try shock tactics.  
  
'Harry!'  
  
Snape smirked as the boy's head shot up, his eyes glittering with anger. That was more like the old Potter!  
  
The boy began to rant. Snape opened his mouth to answer back, but was abruptly drowned out by a blood-curdling yell.  
  
Snape took several steps backward, and stared wide eyed as Potter suddenly shot back to lay ramrod straight, his face screwing up into the most awful grimace.  
  
Cruciatus? No - it couldn't be, he would be curled up, not stretched out.  
  
A vision? He had heard staff members talk about how Potter had fallen off stools as the visions hit him. Snape had always put this over to traditional Potter attention-seeking ways. But that wasn't the issue now, was it?  
  
But he didn't have to wait long to find out what was happening to the teenager. As the boy yelled again, he could see the problem for himself.  
  
The boy's face was changing again, and worse, overriding the disguising spell he had cast earlier.  
  
There was a sharp gasp from behind. Snape swung round and glared. Of course, he had quite forgotten the house had other inhabitants.  
  
'S-Snape?' came the horrified whisper.  
  
The addressed half arched an amused eyebrow. He knew this Muggle. Lily's sister.  
  
'Ah, Toad Eater,' he smirked.  
  
'Toad Eater,' let out a small shriek and fainted clean away.  
  
Snape sneered at her, before turning back to find Potter had finally stopped struggling, and was now lying exhausted, his breath coming in shallow gasps.  
  
He swallowed nervously. The change was much more defined this time, the boy's features sharper, his hair tamer. He shivered.  
  
It was quite unmistakeable now.  
  
Well, as the boy had been dumped on him so unceremoniously, he would have to finish off those Occlumency lessons - properly this time. No matter how much blood, sweat and hexes it took.  
  
*********************  
  
Harry groaned, It felt as if he had been given the bumps, but really viciously. Holding his breath momentarily he mustered up the strength to turn his head toward the door.  
  
Why was Aunt Petunia lying in the hallway? He glanced up at Snape for answers, but instead only found even more questions to ask.  
  
Why was Snape staring at him like that? 


	11. Paint it Black

A/N: Sorry for the delay - I'm juggling writing around employment now! Many thanks to all the brilliant people who reviewed! I need to answer your questions - very neglectful of me. (Let me know what you think of this chapter. ;-) )  
  
On with the angst -  
  
_______________________________________________________  
  
Why was Snape staring at him like that?  
  
********************  
  
'I've changed again, haven't I?' croaked Harry hoarsely, managing to muster enough strength to sit up.  
  
The only response he got was a vague nod. For Snape was still staring.  
  
Staring.  
  
Staring. The teenager's expression hardened. 'Well? Where's my scroll?'  
  
Snape snapped out of his trance, and frowned. 'I don't-'  
  
'Don't start all this 'what is this rubbish Potter' crap!' snarled Harry viciously, taking Snape completely by surprise. 'I'm sick and tired - sick and tired of it! I know you took it-'  
  
'Don't make assumptions-' began Snape hastily.  
  
'I'm bloody NOT! Ouch!' Harry hissed through his teeth as a muscle threatened to spasm again.  
  
Breathing evenly he forced himself to continue on in a dangerous whisper, his jaw going rigid with anger. 'You know all about that, just like you know all about who I am! Because you've got my scroll - you-'  
  
Harry looked up and lifted his arm to point accusingly at his professor, but paled in horror as he caught sight of it. The hand he saw at the end of his shirtsleeve might as well have been a stranger's.  
  
'You utter! -' was all he managed to choke out.  
  
Snape's could not prevent his face flushing with anger. How dare the boy take his anger out on him? Was all this his fault? No!  
  
But as much as he would like to have done, Snape couldn't answer back. The boy's glare was so piercing it threw him off track. It was so full of - rage, betrayal? Like Potter, but not Potter.  
  
Potter. No - that name wouldn't do.  
  
Boy perhaps. He would absolutely not ever be calling the kid Harry. It would be like calling his father James.  
  
Snape huffed. Stupid fool - his father wasn't James!  
  
'Who am I - Snape?' spat Harry venomously.  
  
The question was answered by nothing but silence. A stifling silence full of the ticking of the hallway clock, and Dudley's distant snores.  
  
'Who is my father?'  
  
Snape closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. 'Not Potter.'  
  
'Well fancy that! One down, twenty-odd to go,' sneered Harry.  
  
But Snape didn't seem to have heard. Because Harry was certain that if he had, the professor would have bit back.  
  
The teenager gritted his teeth. He was in no mood for politeness. So what if he insulted Snape and he had heard? It wasn't as if the git ever respected him!  
  
'HEY!' he yelled. 'Are you going to stop beating around the bush, or do I have to wait until I'm older because bloody Dumbledore thinks I'm not old enough?'  
  
That did it. The initial shock that had held Snape frozen to the spot suddenly unleashed a deadly surge of temper. Eyes flashing murderous he sprang forward and with both hands snatched handfuls of the boy's shirt, hauling him roughly off the floor.  
  
BANG! Crockery rattled as Snape slammed the boy against a kitchen cabinet. A teacup leapt off the hook and split in two on the worktop.  
  
Snape then lifted him so only the tips of his toes brushed the floor. Harry gulped; the black tunnel eyes were now far too close for comfort.  
  
'YOU BOY!' began the deadly hiss, lips curling back to show yellowing teeth. 'You should have felt yourself lucky all these years I thought you were Potter's!'  
  
The Professor's eyes glittered strangely. 'But now you are -'  
  
'Please-' whispered Harry.  
  
'SHOW DISRESPECT FOR THE HEADMASTER AGAIN AND I'LL!' Snape bellowed suddenly, his eyes bulging. 'I'LL-' Harry winced, half expecting the man to hit him.  
  
Instead, the professor ground his teeth. 'One moment of stupidity, one sodding charm and this is what!' he snapped. 'When I've finished with you you're going to wish you had never set eyes on any damned scroll!'  
  
'But - w-what have I done?' stammered the lad.  
  
'Done?' Snape almost shrieked. 'DONE!?' YOU IDIOT! YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE!'  
  
Harry gasped as he felt the sharp knuckles press into his chest. 'I'm s-'  
  
Snape shut his eyes, his whole body quivering as it struggled to contain the fury breaking out inside him. 'Except for that you,' he breathed, making an attempt to calm down. 'You - have reminded me of-'  
  
'I'm sorry, please-you're-hurting-me-please!' wheezed out a desperate Harry  
  
Snape froze, and for the first time in the confrontation dared himself to look directly into the teenager's face.  
  
'You have-'  
  
Harry's wide, fearful, terrible eyes stared right back.  
  
Right in.  
  
Snape turned deadly pale, feeling the breath catch in his throat. It had been a mistake to look at him. This was no art of Occlumency, yet it felt as if the boy held the ability to see through to his very soul. To know all of him in one glance. All his fears, all his thoughts-  
  
And it frightened him unendurably, he had to look away.  
  
'Merlin,' he whispered.  
  
When Harry felt Snape shiver, he presumed it was from revulsion, because soon after it happened the professor suddenly released him and quickly backed away, clutching his hands together.  
  
'Sorry,' he muttered, backing away, almost stumbling over Petunia in his haste to get out of the kitchen.  
  
There was a flurry of black robes before the living room door slammed shut.  
  
Harry stared at the closed door rubbing his bruised chest. That man was mad and dangerous, - and Dumbledore trusted him to teach eleven year olds?  
  
Stepping gingerly over Aunt Petunia, he paused outside the living room door. He hadn't the courage to go in there.  
  
So what now?  
  
He shivered, dreading what he had to do. It was up to him to find out what sent Snape spare. And that meant looking in the mirror.  
  
Harry began the slow journey to the bathroom. Finding that he needed to hang on to the stair rails, he took care to cast his eyes downwards. He would be able to cope with seeing his arms again, just as soon as he saw his face.  
  
When he reached the top step he paused. The bathroom was directly opposite the top of the stairwell, the large wall mirror on the left hand wall running almost from floor to ceiling.  
  
Dudley was still snoring loudly.  
  
'Calm yourself! Show some Gryffindor courage!' urged a voice in his head.  
  
'Gryffindor courage? More like Gryffindor stupidity,' mumbled Harry, stepping into the bathroom. In the darkness he could make out a black shadowy outline in the mirror.  
  
His outline.  
  
This was it then.  
  
Taking a short breath Harry reached for the light cord and clicked it on.  
  
The chill begun at the top of his spine, and continued to creep slowly up and down his back as he gazed, unblinking.  
  
He gazed first at the dark green eyes, which were given a more haunted look by the grey rings of tiredness surrounding them. The long nose and thin eyebrows were recognisable from before, but now, bar his skinniness, all Harry's resemblance to a Potter had gone.  
  
Nervously, Harry brought a hand up to feel his hair. Normally it felt rather wiry and dry, with its tendency to stick up no matter how many times he tried to smooth it down.  
  
Now it felt very smooth, and it seemed to cling to his head like never before. Harry cautiously picked up a small clump of strands and pulled them upwards, before letting them go.  
  
They fell flat once again. Harry went to raise his eyebrows in surprise, yet where his usual thicker ones used to travel directly upwards, the stranger's eyebrow's seemed to arch slightly to the side.  
  
Harry caught sight of his hand in the mirror again. He brought it down from his head to stare at it. His fingers were longer, certainly, and the knuckles less knobbly. The thumbs seemed horribly long to him.  
  
He flexed his hands to watch how the skin moved over them, then looked back up into the mirror. As he met his reflection's eyes, he was caught by their look of horror - and felt a strong nausea pass over him.  
  
Shivering, but fighting his faintness, Harry leaned in closer to the mirror, lifting the eerie hand back up to his face.  
  
His vision became slightly blurred, as he got closer to the mirror, which he wasn't used to. The weak bathroom light and sunny yellow walls didn't help matters either, for they tended to give the skin a rather sickly sheen.  
  
Harry swallowed. The face was similar to another's, but he could also see some obvious differences. His face was squarer for a start, and his mouth wider. It was not that much of a likeness.  
  
Except for one thing perhaps?  
  
Squinting to keep his face in focus, Harry gingerly bent the end of his perfectly straight nose down with a fingertip and angled his head slightly to the side.  
  
He only stared one moment. It was more than enough. Harry snatched his hand away as if he had been stung.  
  
If what he fancied was true lead him to turn rather pale, then the turning pale only served to make his imagination run even wilder.  
  
Shuddering uncontrollably, Harry backed off and grabbed hold of the sink for support. The strange reflection copied him.  
  
The porcelain was cold to the touch. Harry tore his eyes away from the reflection and slowly bent over to rest his cheek on the chill tiles of the windowsill.  
  
He breathed shallowly, sensing sudden waves of dizziness as the shock took him. Clutching the sink with all the strength he could, Harry quivered, feeling sure that he might well be sick any moment.  
  
'No. This is only a vision' Harry gasped to himself over and over. He had to tell himself that - he had to believe the talisman would know. And when it declared he had, he would happily be carted off to St Mungos, or wherever they put loony wizards.  
  
'This is only a vision.'  
  
But no - he couldn't read the talisman because his eyes were blurred. And Voldemort's tricks were never like this. Something had truly gone horribly wrong. Unless he was having a vision of a vision and then the talisman would be in it and-  
  
Harry groaned. Oh God, he had to stop thinking like this! It was driving him completely mad.  
  
But he might be mad already strapped down to some bed in St Mungo's.  
  
But he wasn't, he was awake, answered the resolute voice in his head. It was four thirty in the morning of his sixteenth birthday. There had been a thunderstorm earlier. He had received a scroll from his mother, who had told him James wasn't his father and that Dumbledore would visit. But Snape appeared instead of Dumbledore. Snape, who had confessed to being at that party, and who also took the chance to steal his scroll the moment he realised -  
  
'This is only a vision.'  
  
Harry froze his chain of thought right there. 'Accio wand,' he whispered faintly.  
  
There was several moments of silence, and then an odd tapping sound.  
  
His heart pounding, Harry guessed what had happened. Damn. Tonks had shut his bedroom door, and now the wand couldn't get out of his room!  
  
Feeling himself beginning to panic, his allowed his thoughts to stray to Sirius. He screwed his eyes up tightly, feeling wave after wave of misery wash over him. If only Sirius were here! Sirius would help him!  
  
Fighting back the urge to sob, Harry called out for the only other person who might help him. If he could wake him up.  
  
'Dudley!'  
  
The snores continued as loud as ever.  
  
'Dudley?'  
  
He called out twice more. But when it was clear the boy wasn't going to wake up, Harry lowered himself slowly to the floor.  
  
'What use would my wand be anyway?' he thought miserably 'Could it fix this mess?'  
  
As the skies slowly grew lighter outside, and the birdsong announced a new day, the residents of Privet Drive began to think about getting up for work.  
  
But in number four it was all different from usual.  
  
And it was a very groggy Dudley who was the first to discover the bedraggled teenager sleeping fitfully on the bathroom floor.  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
A/N: As clear as mud, aren't I? It's been a long angsty night, but poor Harry will be getting out the Dursleys' house very soon!  
  
Next Chapter: That's not mine, it's Dudley's! 


	12. Over Exposure

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews - and your patience! We've got a new family computer - which we can actually play games on. So you can guess what happened! Hope you all had good holidays - I'll try and answer a few Q's.  
  
RonandChicken: I'm sorry - the mud will clear soon. In fact I have a feeling this photograph might be crucial to the mud clearing process. ;-)  
  
Xikum: Thankyou for your reviews. Ah, you ask so much, but what could I say that wouldn't give my mad little fic's plot away? Not much!  
  
, : "13R raises an inquisitive eyebrow" Have I ever said that this was a Snape-is-Harry's-father fic?  
  
Aurumlupi: Ooh, pour me one please! ;-)  
  
Prowling Wolf: Oops - well spotted! Snape does call Potter, Harry. Maybe I should rephrase, that he wouldn't use it in a non-mocking way? (Whatever that would be for Snape?!)  
  
Zymurgy: "13R looks flattered" Thank you! I'm glad you like this story - and thanks for your patience!  
  
Marller: Thanks! Here's your chapter!  
  
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Oh, Harry! Ha, ha, ha - you should see this man in here! I've never thought about it, but do you reckon - the way wizards use wands, its actually really funny, isn't it Harry? Ha, ha! Ginny? Look, if I wave it like this, I can make pretty little sparks. Look Ginny!  
  
Harry strained his ears to try and listen through the wall. He could hear Ron talking to Ginny on the other side of it.  
  
"Ron!" he called. "Ron? Can you hear me? Look, the door's locked. I can't get through it. Is there a key on the other side of it?"  
  
There was a slight pause, and then Ginny's voice came muffled through the wall.. "Harry? Is that you? Oh, we were worried you had got lost in the forest! Listen, you have to go and get Dumbledore - there's something really important he has to know!"  
  
Harry looked around him. He was shut in a large circular chamber, lit by flaming blue torches. There were many, many doors, all the same. Harry looked around, feeling unease tighten his throat. The sound of Ron's laugh ran out again. He sounded so young, innocent.  
  
He called back. "Ginny? Ginny, I'm not sure if I can get Dumbledore, or if I can, it might be a while as I don't know which door I need to go through."  
  
Ron spoke up then. He sounded rally excited about something. "Is that you Harry? Hey mate - get Dumbledore. You need to get Dumbledore quick!"  
  
Harry looked behind him nervously, his darting eyes showing the beginning of panic. "Ron, I can't - the doors. There are too many.  
  
"Try!"  
  
Hurriedly, Harry began to try each door in turn. The torches flickered eerily. Rattle rattle. Rattle rattle. Rattle rattle. He tried door, after door, after door, and every one was locked. And still there were more.  
  
Glancing around, Harry suddenly realised what he had done. How many doors had he tried? Where were Ron and Ginny? Which wall were they behind? He had no idea anymore.  
  
"Ron! Ginny!"  
  
He strained his ears to silence.  
  
"RON! GINNY!"  
  
Harry cursed himself for being so stupid. Running back the way he came, he paused briefly at every wall to call their names. But there was only more silence to greet him.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Ginny! Oh, thank Merlin!"  
  
The voice snorted contemptuously from behind the wall. "No - it isn't Ginny. I would have thought you knew my voice by now!"  
  
Harry realised his mistake. "Oh, sorry Hermione! Listen, I was just talking to Ron and Ginny and I need to get Dumbledore. But I can't find the door, and now I've lost them, and I have to find them."  
  
"What on earth do you mean?" Hermione sounded incredulous. "Ron and Ginny are in Gryffindor Tower, how can they be in here as well? That doesn't make sense."  
  
Harry was bewildered. "But I was just speaking to them just now!" he cried. "I have to get Dumbledore, and have to find them too!"  
  
Harry could just hear the muffled voice sigh from behind the wall. "Oh, Harry. You know you really must stop all this saving people. Don't you think it's getting a bit annoying?"  
  
"But they might be in danger!" he spluttered. "I can't leave them!"  
  
His voice sounded small and weak in the great room. It reminded him a bit of Hogwart's dungeons -  
  
"Why do you need to get Dumbledore?" snorted a familiar voice from his side just then, making him jump. "Do you think we can't manage a few greasy wizards on our own?"  
  
Harry swang round to a playful grin. "Sirius!" he called out in surprise. "Where have you been?"  
  
"Oh, just hanging around, not doing much" came the lazy reply. "It's really boring here, but I've been trying out a few hexes here, a few hexes there - "  
  
Harry was excited, yet he felt himself grow nervous as he watched Sirius slouch cockily against a door. "Hexes? What sort of hexes?"  
  
Sirius looked miffed. 'What do you mean 'What sort of hexes?' Hexy hexes! Hilarious hexes! Hexes that'll make you piss yourself laughing! Bloody hell James, what have I told you about taking life so seriously?"  
  
Harry started, surprised at being addressed with his father's name. And then he looked closer at his Godfather, and noticed that he looked younger. Much younger -  
  
"I didn't mean - er - I mean I don't fancy doing that right now," he stuttered. "Er - can't we do something else?"  
  
Teenage Sirius grinned hungrily. "Okay. Reckon we should have another go at cracking the security spells on the girls' dorms again? We could fool Filch again, or maybe - if we're really, really sly, slip one of those fireworks in Ol' Gonnygall's tea?"  
  
Harry felt himself groan inwardly. He didn't really want to do any of it - what he really fancied was having a game of Quidditch, but he was afraid he might upset Sirius if he said no. And then there was Ginny and Ron to find, and all those doors -  
  
Sirius was watching him intently, with eyes that suggested mischief was not far away. "Well James?"  
  
Harry was just about to retort that he wasn't James, but then -  
  
WHACK!  
  
In a split second the dark chamber, dream and all was gone, and everywhere was suddenly dazzingly bright.  
  
At first Harry didn't register where he was, what time it was, or even how old he was. All he felt was the sudden and horrible surprise of being smacked roughly round the head. And then, the next thing was the sound of a rather threatening teenage male's voice bellowing at him.  
  
"Who the fuck are you? Get out!"  
  
On impulse Harry shot back away from the shouting, and consequently hit the back of his head against the wash basin with a dull bonging sound.  
  
"Ahh!"  
  
His eyes still heavy with sleep, Harry hurriedly rubbed them with one hand and the back of his sore head with the other. After a few seconds his vision cleared, and he managed to make out a stocky, large-bellied person standing over him, dressed only in a very baggy pair of Homer Simpson boxer shorts.  
  
"MUUUUMM!"  
  
In an instant Harry had recognised the half-broken voice. But it took him another few seconds to recall what question Dudley had asked him, and several more after that to grasp exactly WHY he had been asked it.  
  
Full consciousness had never hit him with such raw horror. Paling noticeably, Harry stared weakly back at his cousin.  
  
"I - er - I -"  
  
His cousin's fists were slightly raised, his piggy eyes narrowing with suspicion. "I wanna know who the fuck you are, right now, and if you don't fucking say - I'll punch it out of you! I fucking swear!" he growled.  
  
At this point Dudley turned round again to bellow, "OY - MUUUMM! Come here quick! MUUUM!"  
  
Cold, and weak, with a smarting head, and a stiff, sore body, Harry made a clumsy attempt to get off the floor. "Dudley, please shut up and listen - for god's sake - it's me, Harry!"  
  
Dudley's head turned slowly, his mouth hanging open, as he looked his cousin up and down at least three times with dull, hung-over eyes. "Uh?"  
  
Harry managed to pull himself to his feet, and managed a weak smile. "I'm still Harry - just don't look like it. I - er - sort of had an accident - with my magic, you know?"  
  
At the mention of the word, Dudley suppressed a shiver. Though he had got along with Harry a lot better the past few weeks - it had only been because Harry hadn't even mentioned the word magic - let alone bring up anything about it. For once, his freak cousin had seemed to act just like one of his school mates - wanting to hang out and stuff.  
  
Dudley's eyes screwed up, as he scowled. But how could he have nearly forgotten what his mum had told him? Harry was still being chased by these absolute nutters of wizards, of course. And wizards could impersonate people - right - with potions?  
  
Dudley looked the pale teen up and down once more. This kid looked like a bit of a scrote. A sly one too. If he ran away, he might get hexed much worse than a pig's tail. Dudley's eyes widened slightly; he would never forget the horror of that shot of local anaesthetic.  
  
So - was finding out whether he could throw a punch faster than this wizard could draw a wand really his only option?  
  
"Yeah right," he leered, cracking his knuckles in a slow, deliberate way. The guy was definitely a featherweight - couldn't be more than nine stone, surely? He'd be out in one punch!  
  
"Yeah, you're Harry and I've got an itchy, itchy chin.."  
  
Harry looked back worriedly. He would hardly need anything like Legilimency to know that Dudley didn't believe him. That sort of magic would be utterly wasted on people like his cousin. "Well, I'll tell you the truth then," he began awkwardly. "But first I'll give you proof who I am before -"  
  
But he didn't get out much more; for a split second later Harry found Dudley's ham-sized fist hurtling toward him. He managed to dodge it, luckily (Thanks to years of practice) But this wasn't so lucky for Dudley, for the bulky teen had chosen to use quite a bit of upper body momentum with his right-handed uppercut. This momentum kept him going as far as the edge of the bath, where gravity toyed with him for a moment, before finally dragging him down.  
  
"Whoa!"  
  
Creak - Squeeek! BANG!  
  
"Oh, bloody hell Duds!" winced Harry as he watched the stocky legs fling out sideways before falling like tree trunks, sending shampoo bottles and soaps skittering everywhere.  
  
His cousin came to rest face down in the bath, whimpering, and what was decidedly worse, was that Homer Simpson had slipped down to his knees, exposing cellulite, tail-docked scar, and all.  
  
"There would have been a time where I would have thought that was really funny," muttered Harry, trying not to look at his cousin's pale, pockmarked arse. "But nearly getting punched for not being yourself? No - not funny."  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Slightly shocked at the sound of the voice, the teenager turned to recognise the pink-clad form of his aunt in the bathroom doorway. He swallowed nervously.  
  
"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"  
  
Petunia pursed her lips even more tightly together and steadied herself against the door frame. There was a slight sound of rustling paper; Harry looked down to his aunt's quivering hands and saw she was clutching several pieces of unrolled parchment.  
  
Petunia was pale, her voice seeming faint and a little distant, as if she was not quite awake. "So it is true after all then?" she whispered. "As it says. I'd know her handwriting anywhere. And this -"  
  
Harry put two and two together, and instantly made a grab for the scroll.  
  
His fingers only managed to brush the edge however, before another thin hand snaked its way around Petunia and whipped it away from them.  
  
Petunia shuddered visibly but didn't turn around as a silky voice brushed past her ear.  
  
"Yes, Mrs Dursley. Unfortunately - quite true."  
  
Harry went rigid, and felt his heart dive as Snape's head appeared over his aunt's shoulder. The last person he wanted to see, Harry chose to stare at the wall instead.  
  
It was then that Petunia recognised the toes poking over the edge of the bath as her sons.  
  
"Popsikins!" she shrieked. "What have you done to him, you horrible child?"  
  
Snape's sneer of disdain seemed to twitch with something akin to amusement as the kid in the bath whimpered out a reply. (Or croak, really - considering it was hard to whimper with your voice breaking.)  
  
"Mummy?"  
  
"It's okay my love, Mummy's here!" Snape shifted his glare to Harry and saw that the boy had barely enough time to mark the swift change of his aunt's expression from fear to vicious determination, before he was roughly shoved out of the way by her aroused maternal instincts. With surprise, the professor also noted the teenager's reaction to this treatment.  
  
Harry blinked as his aunt knocked into him, yet his eyes barely flickered away from the wall. Instead he steadied himself, bit his lip and shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow; did the boy not care how his aunt had just treated him? And had the woman forgotten what she had just read in that damned scroll?  
  
Dudley groaned as his mum helped him to sit up. A large red bruise was beginning to appear on his forehead. "Mum - my bloody head hurts!"  
  
"Don't swear lovey, please. Nice public school boys shouldn't swear. Hold your head up a bit and I'll make it better," Petunia cooed, holding a flannel under the cold tap, before folding it over and applying it to her son's head.  
  
Dudley shrank back from his mother's touch and growled. "Nooo, it's too cold! Make it warmer."  
  
"Hush sweetie, I'm sorry, Mummy didn't mean it," Petunia turned on the hot tap, and ran the cloth under it, before lovingly dabbing it back on her son's head - seeming to completely forget about what she had just been holding in her hand moments before.  
  
Meanwhile, Dudley's hungover, drug-addled, punch-drunk brain had finally recalled the reason why he was sat in the bath with a bump on his head. He opened his eyes groggily. "Mum - has that teenager gone?"  
  
"What teenager, dear?" was his mother's careless response.  
  
Dudley turned his head to look around her, his eyes growing wide. "Watch out Mum - he's behind you! And there's another one - look!"  
  
Petunia frowned, before casting a look behind her. "Who? The teenager?" She threw an unpleasant scowl at Harry. "Don't be silly, dear - there's only your cousin."  
  
Dudley squinted at the teenager. The lad was as scruffy as his cousin used to be - but no bloody way was he Harry! "Have you gone bloody mad, Mum? That ain't Harry! That's the horrible slimy shit who made me fall in the bath!"  
  
Petunia's lips went white. "Dudley Andrew Dursley! What have I told you about swearing? And don't say that to your cousin, when you know I've told you this house is being watched!"  
  
Harry saw Dudley's mouth open in a fishlike way, before closing again. He blinked - it didn't make sense, he could still see Snape out of the corner of his eye. Why couldn't Aunt Petunia?  
  
His aunt was still twittering on. "And don't make me worry, you tell me if you want me to call the doctor out. And make sure you tell Mummy if you start feeling tired, or sick. Oh, and promise me you won't go in the living room - there's the gas man in fixing the fire, and he doesn't need a crowd."  
  
The two teenagers stared at each other for a moment totally confused, before staring at the thin dark shadow of a sultry wizard, still sneering in the doorway.  
  
They both saw him - he was there, their expressions confirmed it.  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes at Dudley before tutting. "Haven't you heard of Electa apparentis Potter? Dear, dear, it must be the result of years of sub- standard defence teaching. And clearly those extra "Defence classes" can't have been that effective - "  
  
Harry frowned. It was weird - Snape was obviously talking to him, but now was he refusing to even look in his direction?  
  
"Seeing as you will probably be too lazy to bother looking it up, Electa apparentis means select exposure."  
  
Snape trailed off, gritting his teeth. It just wasn't the same making fun of the boy since those Occlumency lessons. And now this bloody thing had to appear out of nowhere - he looked down at the scroll he was holding with a particularly ugly expression - well, ignorance about this brat's case would have been bliss indeed! Turning with a dismissive swish of robes, Snape swept down the stairs.  
  
A few moments later Harry winced as he heard the living room door slam, probably due to magical, rather than physical force.  
  
"Harry!" said his Aunt suddenly. "Stop standing there and help me get your cousin out of the bath! Please," she added quickly.  
  
Harry saw Dudley was giving him a really suspicious eye as he edged forward. As he helped Dudley up, Harry whispered quietly, "I swear to you it's me - Harry. Could anyone else be so good at dodging your punches?"  
  
Dudley frowned, yet said nothing.  
  
Petunia fixed a stern eye on Harry. "And I want you to watch Dudley for concussion. If he as much as looks faint I want you to call for me immediately!"  
  
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."  
  
Once they were out of her sight, Dudley's demeanour changed.  
  
"Georroff me," he growled, throwing himself on the bed, before glaring up at Harry. "What the hell have you done to yourself, freak?"  
  
"I haven't done anything. It's what other people have done to me that's the problem!"  
  
"So what the hell is going on then? Magic?"  
  
Harry sighed bitterly. "I know what magic's going on. It's the rest I want to know about! But Snape's got my bloody scroll!"  
  
Dudley's eyes widened slightly. "Who?"  
  
"Snape."  
  
"Snape?"  
  
"Yes." Harry swore he could almost hear his cousin's brain straining with the effort.  
  
Dudley squinted. "You mean that goth-hag bloke who just went downstairs?"  
  
"Ye-es. He's a professor at my school."  
  
"A wizard teacher?" Dudley went slightly pale, before shaking his head. "Fuck."  
  
Harry nodded. He couldn't agree more.  
  
Dudley gave a weak smile. "He looks even more mental than my chemistry teacher. And that's bad."  
  
Harry's expression darkened. "You have no idea."  
  
"Twisted?"  
  
"Just a bit."  
  
There was a slight pause, wherein they could hear Petunia making her way downstairs. Harry frowned; what had Snape done to her? She had managed to get hold of the scroll and read it, yet she didn't seem too shocked. But wait a moment - what was that she had said? "So it is true after all?"  
  
Harry frowned. Did that mean she already knew? How? Who? What in Merlin's frigging -  
  
Harry suddenly became aware that Dudley was staring at him intently. "You know," he said his little eyes narrowing. "I wasn't too sure, but when you screw up your face like that you look sort of like -"  
  
"No - Don't say it!" shot in Harry, screwing up his face even more. (Which only made it worse.)  
  
" - a picture of some guy I saw in the loft once."  
  
That wasn't what he thought he was going to hear. Harry's eyes grew wide as saucers.  
  
"W-w-what?!"  
  
Dudley scowled. "Yeah - in some shoebox. But who cares about that old stuff? I was looking for my stash this morning. Where is it?"  
  
But Harry was already pulling down the loft ladder. Now his uncle was out of the house there was nobody who could stop him from going up there.  
  
"Harry - my stash!" called Dudley up into the dark hole of a hatch.  
  
There was a muffled sound of boxes being moved around, before a faint voice floated down from above.  
  
"It's downstairs. Don't worry - I'll get it back for you."  
  
For once, Dudley's brain worked faster than his mouth; as soon as he began to exclaim,"What do you mean get it back?" he knew the answer would be -  
  
"Snape. I'll say it's yours - which isn't a lie, is it? But I have to do this first."  
  
"Why - you, utter, utter, nob!" Dudley stood fuming as Harry pulled up the loft ladder. He knew from past experience he couldn't fit through the small hatch.  
  
"Whatever Dudley." 


	13. Bittersweet

A/N: Aha, I have found my muse! (For how long I don't know -) So here's another chapter. "13R wheezes as she shovels mud." Now I think this chapter will finally clear the murkiness a tad!  
  
Or will it? ;-)  
  
Only teasing! I think -  
  
Thanks for your reviews!  
  
____________________________________________________________  
  
The sound of the hall cupboard slamming shut awoke Snape from a light doze in the living room armchair. He cocked his head toward the door, and listened bemusedly to the banging and crashing going on in the hallway. It sounded like someone was trying to move something about, and making one hell of an unnecessary noise about it. Probably Potter, or his inept looking whiny sop of a cousin, thought Snape, a curl twisting his lip.  
  
But it wasn't a teenager at all. Snape whipped his wand out as the door was flung open, allowing a huge pile of clothes and an ironing board to explode into the living room, followed by a rather evil looking Petunia Dursley.  
  
After dumping the overflowing basket on the floor and sulkily slamming down the legs of the ironing board, she stormed across to the man glowering at her from the armchair. "So, nothing needs explaining now, does it?" she snapped. "It's all quite clear - and I can't say I'm surprised!"  
  
"Pardon?" Snape growled, putting on what was intended to be a threatening expression for the indignant looking woman standing over him. How dare she, a Muggle, speak to him in such a manner! Well, he could certainly see where Potter got his insolence from!  
  
Petunia narrowed her eyes. Wizard or not she couldn't care less anymore; she had had quite enough of men the past few months - men, men, men - whining, complaining, snivelling, dribbling sneering - lolling about her home like drunkards in a dosshouse. Oh - she was sick of their whinging on about how their lives were so difficult. And she knew wizard men, above all had it even easier! Let them try raising two impossible teenage boys, paying bills, shopping and running a house, as well as going to work!  
  
Well, Vernon managed to slip the net - but she would see this one especially was not going to get away with it -  
  
"You!" she shrilled. "You DARE to show your face? Let everybody else do all your donkey work, before coming back when the job's nearly over. Oh, just like a typical man, take the easy way out, too damned lazy to face up to your responsibilities! Well I'll tell you one thing, you have a lot of explaining to do Rus Snape!"  
  
Despite his surprise at being addressed in such a way, the cruel sneer which was so commonly seen on the Professor's face barely wavered. "So you remembered my name after our very brief acquaintance? And it was such a long time ago too? Oh, I am touched."  
  
"Well," she snorted cruelly. "It would hardly be difficult to forget YOUR name, especially when it has such a face to accompany it!"  
  
"Well thank you, Petunia," intoned Snape coolly. "Still riled up about the Spadefoot, I see?"  
  
Petunia pressed her lips together in a pale line, a sign that she was very close to snapping point. "And pray tell me, what this has got to do with some immature old prank?"  
  
Snape blinked before allowing his face to fall into the most innocent expression it could. "Well, what else could it possibly be?"  
  
The damage had been done. Snape had grown far too complacent with insults, being used to most people either fearing him, or avoiding him - and he didn't see the Evans' Stinger until it was too late.  
  
SLAP!  
  
Ooh, that smarted. Too stunned to even think about defending himself, the wizard sat blinking through watery eyes as the tempest raged around him.  
  
"How dare you sit here acting the sweet and innocent!" Petunia shrieked, her horsy teeth bared in a fearsome fury. "Having the cheek to break into my home, sit around in my chairs dictating like some disgusting lord! Tell me, do you want some breakfast with that slap - as I'm quite happy to throw that at you as well!"  
  
Snape stiffened, managing to recover some of his anger, as he watched his assailant snatch up the iron from atop the washing, and bash it down onto the board, before ramming its plug into the wall. He allowed her to iron half a shirt (Using far more force than was necessary) before he uttered a comment.  
  
"You dare to strike me like that?" he hissed. "Are you mad, woman?"  
  
"You'll wish I was after this!" she retorted. "And a slap is the least I can do - the only reason I haven't strangled you is because I want my compensation for my years of suffering! And I have already phoned Mr Woodson, my solicitor about it, so don't think you're getting off scot free!"  
  
The brooding wizard scowled. "I fail to see what you mean by suffering."  
  
Petunia flung the ironed shirt over a chair before whirling around to face him with a look of suppressed triumph. "You owe me sixteen years of maintenance, and hex me or not with your freakish spells, I will stop at nothing to get it!"  
  
"Maintenance? Of what?"  
  
Petunia became maddened as she watched the baffled expression spread over Snape's face. "Don't tell me they haven't got such a thing in your freak world, because I won't believe it for a minute! I have had it with lies, with magic, with everything. And that scroll's the final straw - you can creep back and tell that crackpot Dumbledore I'm not doing anything more for him. I wash my hands of the boy as from now on!"  
  
Snape's expression cleared. He smirked mockingly. "Ah, so this is what it is all about! Potter!"  
  
"Potter?" exclaimed Petunia, with a sneer holding the iron threateningly in mid air. "Potter? Why should it be Potter? The awful man my sister married herself to? No - I knew her, I knew my sister better than anyone! I kept her secrets, watched your lot turn her freakish, but underneath she was still the same silly schoolgirl I had to bail out again and again!" She snorted contemptuously, flinging another shirt onto the board. "And now I can clearly see where that impossible boy gets his attitude problem from!"  
  
"Well, she was impossible, but I'm not sure I agree she had an attitude problem," muttered Snape.  
  
Petunia looked up, her expression showing she could hardly believe what she was hearing. "I didn't mean my sister - I meant you, you stupid man!!" she shrilled loudly. "The entire summer long after fifth year I had to endure her mooching about the house, taking some silly little moving picture about with her, telling her older sister all her sufferings. "Ooh, he's so cruel to me, I can't believe he can say that - but I don't care, I can love him just the same! He's so clever, and he has such amazing eyes! Oh, Rus Snape!"  
  
Petunia resumed her ironing, a bitter, mocking smile twisting her face. "I thought I'd got it through to her by the end of the Summer not to get mixed up with the likes of you," she muttered quietly. "But then we both went back to school - and my poor sister went crawling back to you again to be abused, no doubt. But by next year it was yet another freak, a rich one this time - mum and dad were so pleased. It was, "Oh, James did this - Oh James said that!" But as soon as this Potter came round to visit, they would fall out - and as soon as he went home sulking, that little photo of you would come out again." Petunia snorted. "Well you know what they say about first loves!"  
  
Snape was too stunned to speak. Or rather too afraid to do so, lest his voice would give away his surprise - if his face being a deathly white mask didn't betray his emotions clearly enough.  
  
Lily Evans had had a crush on him?  
  
But Petunia was far from finished. Her pale eyes shone with anger, as she once again pursed her lips into a thin line. "So - it seems you have finally decided to face up to your responsibilities for once instead of wimping and whining about like the typical man? Letting everyone believe Potter was his father, and not having the guts to tell my sister - and THEN dumping your kid on us? Well, don't expect to be welcome here after the court case has finished! You can take your useless son - providing I get my money!" she snapped. "And - AND - "  
  
Snape watched dumbly as Petunia began to dig about in the ironing basket, dragging out clothes in a whirl of temper. Once she had sorted a small pile out, she scooped it up and flung it at the immobile wizard with an enraged shriek.  
  
"AND - seeing as you're here to claim him, you can start by claiming his ironing!"  
  
****************************************************  
  
"Harry!" whined Dudley up at the loft hatch. "Harry, get my shit from your teech!" "When I've finished this shoe box!" Dudley could barely make out the faint reply, obviously Harry had moved to the far end of the loft to search there.  
  
"But you said that five minutes ago! There are bloody loads of shoe boxes up there!"  
  
Dudley's last complaint was met with silence. All sounds of rummaging had stopped.  
  
"Harry? You found it yet?"  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Shit."  
  
Dudley stood on tiptoe in a vain attempt to look through the hatch. "What?"  
  
No reply.  
  
"What Harry? Stop freaking me out - I wanna know!"  
  
"Nutty and Rus."  
  
"Nutty and Rus?" sneered Dudley. "Is that all you're going to say? What's that supposed to bloody mean?"  
  
Harry's pale face suddenly appeared in the hatchway. With a trembling hand he dropped a small piece of card down into the bedroom. "Look," he croaked. "This must be my - father."  
  
Dudley's stubby fingers picked the piece of card from the floor. It had writing on the back, but he was more interested in the front - where there was a picture.  
  
This was the picture he remembered, all right - this bloke that Harry scowled like. He flipped the photo over to read the writing on the back.  
  
"Nutty and Rus, my Slytherin boys. Hogwarts' fifth year."  
  
Furrowing his brow in confusion, Dudley turned the photo over again.  
  
"What does it mean by boys?" he exclaimed. "I can only see one - Agh!"  
  
Yelping, Dudley dropped the photo as if he'd been stung and backed away, staring in horror. "He moved! I fucking swear he moved!"  
  
Harry sighed as he began to lower the loft ladder. "Course he moved, Dudley. It's a wizard photo! Pass it me will you?"  
  
Dudley's face turned sour. "No way - I ain't picking that freaky thing up!  
  
As he climbed down the ladder Harry kept his eyes fixed on the photo, which had landed face up. He wanted to see who this other boy was - if he ever decided to show his face.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Petunia was so fed up of men that morning she couldn't even bear to be in the same room with one anymore. And so the door slammed for the umpteenth time that morning, leaving the wizard all alone in the living room.  
  
Under the pile of ironing, Snape was still in shock. How was he going to explain to Petunia that it wasn't him, couldn't be him? He had taken the pepper-up potion, hadn't he? He had been drunk that night, but the potion had cleared it.  
  
He, Severus Snape, had been as good as sober on that night sixteen years ago. He wasn't Potter's father - his damned swine of a brother was!  
  
Snape blinked. How come he didn't notice Lily in year five? Was it because he had been too depressed to notice her? Probably - there had been some days when he didn't even care if it was day or night. She had sat opposite on his table in potions that year. But he never, ever for one moment, suspected she fancied him!  
  
She had gone out with Dignus in the Autumn term, yes, but did she ever think of Dignus's younger brother? She must have - why Petunia had said she'd even got a picture of him somewhere!  
  
Snape snarled. Why couldn't his life be easy?  
  
But his mocking little inner voice was there to answer this, as it had been since damned Occlumency with damned Potter.  
  
"Because you didn't make it easy, and still don't. Because you are happy being the horrible bastard you are."  
  
Snape threw the washing down and stood, feeling the frustrated rage welling up inside him. It was going to say it any minute; he couldn't stop it.  
  
"She was better off with Potter. She chose right."  
  
"But she's dead!" he howled to the empty room. "How can that be better off?"  
  
"Well," returned the voice mockingly. "You're still alive - and is that such a good thing?"  
  
Snape's face contorted. "Yes," he snarled, baring his yellowed teeth. "Yes, it is!"  
  
Silently daring the voice to even contemplate a reply to his outburst, he whipped round in a flurry of temper and drew his wand on the first thing he saw, which happened to be the TV set.  
  
KABOOM!  
  
*******************************************************  
  
Harry sat down on the floor and picked up the photo to cradle it. He could see that this was more like the boy he saw in his reflection - thank Merlin!  
  
Harry watched as the boy smirked back, before warily glancing all around him. Was he waiting for the other named person to appear?  
  
But just as the boy looked the other way, a black object hurtled out from the side of the photo and barrelled into him. It was another boy! Harry watched aghast as the two snarled and spat, throwing several punches, before leaping back and drawing their wands, sneering at one another.  
  
Now he was standing still, Harry could get a closer look at the second boy. (Well, as close as his blurring eyes would allow.)  
  
Like the other, he was tall and skinny, but he was decidedly less pleasant looking - and much less clean.  
  
Harry quivered as the enormity of realisation hit him. The other boy was unmistakably Snape. The same sneer, the same look of anger. The same duelling stance!  
  
But the horrible thing which really made Harry's stomach churn - Snape looked so similar to the other boy - it would be incredible if they weren't related. 


	14. Shadowless but nothing

A/N: Sorry, sorry sorry! Busy Summer – and all sorts of stuff going on at the moment. (13R bangs head on wall) Here are the long overdue 14th and 15th chapters to this fic. And then, I promise, there is more to come – I know as I have it plotted out! Thank you all for reviewing!

* * *

Snape gazed triumphantly at the blackened and smouldering crater of plastic melted into the carpet where the television had been only moments before. He wafted the smoke lazily away with one hand; in way of incendiary spells, perhaps that one had been a little bit excessive.  
  
The fact it had been a Muggle appliance was his excuse; as these things had given him more than enough grief over the years to make him rather twitchy with electrical gadgets of any kind. The best policy was surely to attack them before they attacked you, and then keep on attacking. Torch them all until they disintegrate into (hopefully inoffensive) little piles of dust. On one occasion (just to be certain) he had even taken care to remove the dust with an appropriately reactive dissolving solution to leave absolutely nothing.  
  
Yes – Snape really was that paranoid. Or persistently unlucky. Maybe both. But with his track record paranoid was probably the most sensible thing to be.  
  
Before he had the chance to start on anything else in the room however, a high pitched, deafening noise split through the air, causing Snape to duck and clamp hands over his ears. Grimacing, he craned his neck to cast a filthy look up at the cause of the racket; a small white box - with a little, flashing red light - stuck on the ceiling directly above his head.  
  
Snape aimed his wand and with one shower of red sparks blasted the thing clean off the ceiling. To his chagrain, however, this zero-tolerance method didn't appear to work – the apparatus had gone, but the deafening racket was still there, though somehow fainter...  
  
Snape shot a sultry look toward the hall door. So there were more than one of the blasted things? No, he would probably never, ever, lose his passion for cursing Muggle contraptions.  
  
No mistake; Dudley didn't have a clue what to do. There was that creepy wizard teacher of Harry's downstairs (he'd forgotten his name) who had a sort of Jafar from Aladdin look about him – but greasier. (He was going to joke about that with Harry, but he'd rather not admit to watching Saturday morning cartoons at his age.) Anyway, there was his mum treating his cousin as if nothing was wrong with him, and completely ignoring Jafar-whats-his- face even when he stood right behind her. To make it worse Harry had just told him his stash was now in this bloke's possession, and now couldn't look less interested in getting it back for him.  
  
And to top it all, Mum hadn't even called him down to breakfast yet! Dudley sniffed snottily; he could smell something, but it didn't smell like food at all, more like burnt plastic. Maybe she had started, and burnt the saucepan handle or something. What a crap morning this was turning out to be.  
  
"That bloody stinks," muttered Dudley offhandedly to his cousin, not quite sure what else to say. "Even your cooking used to be better than what she scrapes up!"  
  
His cousin didn't even acknowledge him, much less notice his attempt at a compliment. Instead he just sat there, staring gormlessly at the wall. Dudley shrugged; what the Hell did he have to do –slap him? That's what they always do in Eastenders anyway, when everything goes tits up...  
  
Then he remembered something, and his small eyes gleamed. When he got back from the shops yesterday he'd smuggled a few Mars Bars into his room and stuffed them under the bed. (Mum didn't check under the mattress – good job she didn't, as Piers had leant him some pretty cool magazines...) Dudley's stomach growled loudly, and seemingly forgetting his cousin, he shuffled back into his room in anticipation of a chocolate breakfast.  
  
On his way past the stereo he paused and looked at his CD collection. It was quickly down to a choice of two like always – Oasis or Blur. (Trance was crap, really, he only bought it 'cus Piers liked it – and it was too early for The Prodigy) Oasis. Loading the CD and cranking up the volume dial, Dudley crossed the room, lifted the mattress, got a Mars Bar and a dirty mag, and lumped down on his bed with a grunt of satisfaction. That was him for the rest of the morning.

"Here's a thought for everyman, Who tries to understand what's in his hand,"  
  
Though the hoarse tones of Liam Gallagher rudely interrupted the silence, they didn't interrupt one teenager's train of thought. Harry was still gripping the wizards' picture tightly between his fingers, as if he was convinced it would suddenly try to escape or something. Half of him was crying out to rip it in two. What would happen to "Nutty and Rus" then? Would one boy stay on one half of the picture, the other boy in the other, divided and never to fight again? Maybe he could then throw away the young Snape and keep the other boy?  
  
"As they took his soul they stole his pride, As he faced the sun he cast no shadow."  
  
But as much as one part edged him on, a small part of him was screaming not to. While Harry really didn't want to listen to this desperate little voice that was telling him he had a family, the ache he felt in front of Erised all those years ago returned to haunt him. It seemed like a painful joke. Harry imagined Voldemort's reaction to this, and the shrill mocking laugh replayed through his head once again. Yes, it was cruel, and was exactly the sort of thing that would amuse Voldemort.  
  
"We live in the shadows and we had the chance and threw it away, And it's never gonna be the same,"  
  
As to what he was going to do now. Harry stared at his thin fingers; what if he were stuck like this? Problem after problem seemed to be building up. Biggest of all were the people he'd have to face – Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, the rest at Hogwarts.  
  
Snape.  
  
Harry stomach churned uncontrollably with a mix of horror and rage, until his next thought, which was so awful he couldn't believe he'd come up with it -  
  
"At least Sirius didn't live to see this."  
  
He winced and drew his legs tightly up against his chest.  
  
"And it's never gonna be the same, 'Til the life I knew comes to my house and says, Hello..."  
  
Aside from the pain of the reminder, Harry then couldn't stop his mind creeping with even more horrible thoughts. Would Sirius have rejected him completely as a godson if he had been alive long enough to know the truth? Would everyone else abandon him now – the relative of the reviled Potions Master? And then what? Would Gryffindor kick him out – leaving him nowhere to go but Slytherin?  
  
Harry recoiled. This coupled with the fact that he had almost lead those friends to their deaths a few weeks ago made it all the more unbearable. Suddenly the thought of meeting anybody connected with Hogwarts made him feel very nervous; it was as if all his Gryffindor courage was slowly draining out, leaving only his cold Slytherin traits coiling around inside him. He deserved to be hated now. He was truly disgusting.  
  
But maybe – there was one chance that he wouldn't have to face all this.  
  
There was always the option of running away...


	15. Can Hide, Can Run?

Just as Harry was about to think further about his plan of escape, his train of thought was abruptly derailed by the loud wail of the smoke alarm.  
  
"For Chris'sakes Mum, let Harry do my breakfast!" bellowed Dudley, trying to get over the duet of rock band versus the klaxon.  
  
Harry looked up half-interested at the ceiling, but remained rigidly backed against the wall. Like before his dark thoughts descended down again to drown out the noise.  
  
His heart rate increased with excitement at his earlier thought. Of course he could run away! Escape into the Muggle world where no one knew him or what he'd done, or recognise his new family resemblance as a negative.  
  
His mind finally set on a plan of action, Harry stood up and began to move toward his room to gather some things together. He felt quite shaky and weak – not having had any food since yesterday lunchtime.  
  
He was a few feet from his bedroom door before there was a loud "Crack- BANG!" close by. Instinctively Harry dived to the floor.  
  
"There ain't no sense in feeling lonely, they got no faith in you, But I got a feeling you still owe me so wipe the shit from your shoes,"  
  
It was a few seconds before he realised he could only hear Oasis again. He gazed upwards, and his eye was immediately drawn to a black patch on the ceiling where the smoke alarm used to be...  
  
His heart in his throat Harry leapt to his feet to find a rather pale- looking Snape glaring at him from the top of the stairs.  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes still more and hissed, "What do you think you are playing at setting those contraptions off?"  
  
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again and trembled slightly. It was too much. He couldn't cope with what this man meant to him anymore.  
  
Snape was expecting a retort, but instead watched with some surprise as the teen seemed to quiver before leaping inside his room and slamming the door. He sneered; Fearless Gryffindor, maybe not.  
  
"Potter, it is the Headmaster's Order that I remove you from this house today," called Snape over the music, "so I suggest it would be wise to stop acting like the brat you are and pack immediately!"  
  
"I think I've got a feeling I've lost inside I think I'm gonna take me away and hide,"  
  
No reply. Snape muttered a few swearwords under his breath.  
  
"I'm thinking things that I just can't abide,"  
  
"Potter?"  
  
Damn the impossible brat. Muttering a few more bitter words, Snape pulled out his wand, strode to the closed bedroom door and flung it open to reveal a bare room - and no Potter.  
  
His initial thought was to check the window, but that was soon dismissed as flinging back the faded old curtains revealed a set of bars criss-crossing them. Scowling, Snape swept round to face the wardrobe. He flung open the doors - to reveal nothing.  
  
Creak...  
  
Snape turned to see the bedroom door open of its own accord. He cursed – of course the damned boy had an Invisibility cloak!  
  
"Potter!" he roared. The door slammed, and there was a sound of sliding bolts and the thud of scrambling feet. Snape leapt to the door, and unlocked it swiftly with a charm, but once in the hallway again he was unsure of which way to turn.  
  
"You gotta roll with it, You gotta take your time, You gotta say what you say, Don't let anybody get in your way, 'Cause it's all too much for me to tzzzzk!"  
  
With one moody flick of his wand Snape had cast a silencing charm on Dudley's room. Harry suddenly became acutely aware of his breathing, and watched on nervously from the corner of the hallway. He pressed his back further into the wall as the dark gaze swept over him, and back again, and over him again.

Harry shook his head - why was he so terrified of Snape? He could handle him, yet here he was falling apart like some twelve year old Neville Longbottom – and it was utterly, utterly stupid!  
  
"I know you are still in the hallway. Don't think you can hide from me..."  
  
Snape continued to stand there frowning, yet seemingly at a slight loss of what to do. Harry shuddered as he watched the man's sharp features pinching together in a deeper scowl. Merlin – how much it now reminded him of his own face pulling in the mirror the night before!  
  
"I am going to be extremely generous and give you five seconds to show yourself, Potter," hissed Snape. "After that, I will resort to...other means to...get you...  
  
"One..."  
  
Harry swallowed. He had to escape, even though he was wandless and without his broom – if he was lucky he might be able to return for them at a later stage. He pressed his back against the wall, and began to slide toward the stairs.  
  
"Two..."  
  
Harry was two foot nearer the stairs now, but so was Snape, who was also moving slowly forward, his wand slightly raised. Glowering. Dangerous.  
  
"Three..."  
  
As Harry moved closer to escape he glanced back and saw the man bare his teeth slightly. He felt a prickle run down his back; had he been located?  
  
"Four..."  
  
Only when he had reached the top of the stairs did Harry notice Snape's eyes were now trailing his feet, and realised with absolute horror – of course he would be making foot impressions in the carpet...  
  
At Snape's cry of five two things happened simultaneously: Harry panicked and leapt kamikaze style down the stairs, while his professor aimed his wand and bellowed out a spell.  
  
"MURUS SOLIDUS!"  
  
Bang! Harry groaned and swore as he felt his body come into contact with what seemed like an invisible wall halfway down the stairs.  
  
Before he had even found his senses enough to get up, Harry sensed the hallway turn very dark. Harry opened his eyes to find that a wall of black robes was blocking half the light out.  
  
Snape was leaning over him, a nasty gleam in his eye...  
  
"Taking yet another foolish risk. How Gryffindor of you," he sneered pitilessly. "A shame that tragic reality hasn't changed."  
  
"My mum was in Gryffindor," quavered back Harry's voice from beneath the cloak. "At least THAT hasn't changed."  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed. Taking care to keep the wand pointing at the boy, he brought his other hand forward. Finding a handful of material he pulled hard to reveal the teenager beneath.  
  
Harry shivered as Snape's nose came closer to his own. He was cornered, wandless, despised; alone.  
  
"Indeed. All that's happened is that you have exchanged one cocksure idiot father for another," said Snape, his eyes gleaming oddly. "But now you have lost her green eyes you bear no resemblance to her - at all."  
  
Harry watched as his dark "uncle's" lip curled in mockery. "You will never be half the person she was."


	16. Falling Out

"One cocksure idiot father for another."  
  
Harry quivered and shrank back as the impact of Snape's words sank in. Yes, they had cut into him, actually hurt him. He was used to this sort of treatment from the Dursleys – but the horror of finding another hellish relative...who had just confirmed he hated him regardless.  
  
Well – Harry didn't understand why, but Snape's few words had stung much more than anything the Dursley's had ever said. It was weird.  
  
In one movement Snape had rolled up, shrank and pocketed the invisibility cloak, his thin sneer parting to show clenched, unpleasant teeth. "Now I have dealt with the little distractions," he intoned coolly, "wouldn't it be prudent if someone began to pack?"  
  
Harry felt a twinge of anger amidst all the confusion and hurt, and this give him some courage. That was his bloody cloak! "I think you'd better give that back," he muttered coldly, "You know what? I think my Mum wouldn't-"  
  
"Silence!" growled Snape.  
  
Harry flushed. "But I need to know - my mum-"  
  
"Don't question me about your mother!" shrieked Snape suddenly, eyes widening as he threatened to snap out-of-control again.  
  
"And why not?" challenged back the teen bravely, narrowing his eyes. His heart began to pound in his ears as the professor visibly stiffened with his words. Had he gone too far?  
  
Snape's jaw was twitching, his face flushing an unhealthy red. "Because..." he hissed, voice deadly as poison.  
  
The temptation was too great, and Harry's reply was out before he'd even thought it over.  
  
"Because - what..?"  
  
The professor's knuckles were turning white. Harry tensed; knowing he'd gone too far for definite now...  
  
With a sudden hiss of Snape unleashed his fury and lunged forward – but the teen was just too quick for him – he was hardly going to let himself be shoved around this time! In one swift movement Harry had hit away Snape's arms and shot under his legs, almost knocking him over.  
  
Once through, he made a mad scramble to his feet, but was taken down again as Snape took a firm grip of his leg, and began to roughly drag him back. Fear rose in his throat, and Harry yelled, twisted round and lashed out in blind panic.  
  
"ARGH!"  
  
Snape yelled loudly, swore, and let go of Harry's leg, causing him to fall to the floor with a whump. Not daring to spare a backward glance, even out of curiosity, the teen shot forward and scuttled into the nearest room still on all fours.  
  
Breathing heavily from the struggle Harry sprang up and leapt right across his aunt's bed like a mad cat, convinced Snape was close behind him.  
  
The window.  
  
He flung it open and was on the window ledge without a second thought. Escape being the only thing on the teen's mind, things he'd never considered before suddenly seemed plausible.  
  
Things such as – hanging on a thin plastic drainpipe, and shimmying across it high above a concrete paving slab patio...before climbing down onto the adjoining neighbour's flimsy wooden trellis overgrown with ivy...  
  
Indeed the full awful realisation of what he was doing only came to him with the words –  
  
"GET OFF MY DRAINPIPE YOU STUPID, STUPID BOY! IT CAN'T TAKE YOUR WEIGHT!"  
  
But it was too late to listen to the neighbour's yells or Aunt Petunia shrieks by this time - he was already hanging by his arms five foot away from the window, five foot away from the trellis, and fifteen foot off the ground...  
  
Harry swallowed, and inched a bit closer to the trellis, to several gasps of horror below – which he presumed were the neighbours. The way gossip travelled, this escapade would likely be all over the close in less than five minutes.  
  
If he lasted five minutes that was...wondered Harry, as he listened to the drainpipe beginning to creak under his weight, and his aunt's exclamations below. Yet another one of his bloody idiotic ideas.  
  
In an attempt to take some of the weight off of the pipe, he tried to get some grip on the wall with his feet, but only succeeded in clumsily chipping bits of brick off instead, leaving his legs swinging madly.  
  
"Oh my God, oh my God -" wailed Petunia as shards of brick began to skitter down onto her nicely swept patio.  
  
"Oh – my GOD!"  
  
The drainpipe gave off an even louder creak. With one last risky swing (to several gasps from below) Harry gave up struggling and hung limply; licking his lips nervously. He was still a good four feet from the trellis, but his arm muscles had seized, his fingers were almost spent, and so apparently were the screws holding the pipe to the wall. The one closest to him was almost fully out of the wall! It was only a matter of time...  
  
But then maybe he should just let go anyway - he had fallen from greater heights and survived... Harry couldn't pause to think about the fact that both times he had fallen on grass. This time he'd be lucky to escape without a broken leg. Or worse. As it was solid concrete.  
  
As if he cared anyway. Surely this would be an easiest way to end it all.  
  
He hissed through clenched teeth – his muscles were shaking madly, going to fail on him any second...so it would have to be...  
  
Any...  
  
Moment...  
  
Now.  
  
He gasped as he let go, then held his breath. It was a strange feeling, falling so suddenly. Just a sudden terror, the stomach shooting upwards – and the sort of delayed realisation – so much so that he didn't get round to screaming until he was mere inches from the ground.  
  
He was still falling, still screaming. The concrete was zooming toward him, but he was somehow endlessly falling toward it, trapped in mid air. Harry opened his mouth to scream again – yet no sound came out.  
  
And then there was nothing but the greyness of the concrete, and a roaring in his ears. The pathway seemed to bleach red before his eyes. He watched as the colour continued to bleed steadily into the grass verge, slowly stain everything the colour of freshly spilt blood...  
  
He was standing in the Dursley's garden. It was mid to late Summer by the looks of it – the grass already tired and scorched. The hedge around the garden had just been trimmed – the clippings still waiting to be swept off the lawn. It was his job to do that – he remembered. Several of Dudley's shirts were still dripping on the washing line. The tomato plants needed a water – another thing he should be doing before it got too hot. By the looks of the cloudless sky it was going to be another scorching day.  
  
He turned his head. He was now looking at the Dursley's house. The French Windows were open, as was the back door. By looking through the house from here he could tell the front door was wide open too. As were the living room windows, the hallway's. The bedroom windows...  
  
A light breeze took a few of the trees' leaves with it. Harry shuddered, feeling that whatever had gone closely past him had been more than just a breeze. He was sure he had heard something more beyond the sound of the trees. And there was murmuring too. Something murmuring – inside the house.  
  
As he neared the French Windows, the breeze blew again, carrying the murmurings toward him. Fanning out the curtains enticingly.  
  
The murmurs turned to whispers, the curtains turned darker. Blacker.  
  
He could almost make out what they were saying. A little closer.  
  
The fabric swayed. He was at arms length; closer than he'd been before. He reached out an uncertain hand, barely touching the fabric, before he was pulled viciously back by a merciless grip.  
  
A grip he was sure he recognised.  
  
He growled and turned angrily, for all the world expecting the icy cold stare of his Potions Professor. But the while the eyes were cold, they could hardly be black.  
  
They were green. Bright intense green  
  
The hair was short and scruffy, the face was pale, the glasses were round, the sneer was pitiless...  
  
He staggered back. He seemed to be falling again...falling into blackness. 


	17. Hear, See, Smell

"NO! NO!!!"

"Shush-sh-sh-sh...! Hey, hey...!"

Gasping for air, Harry lashed about, trying to stop himself falling until he realised he was being pinned down. He opened his eyes to darkness, which only made him panic and struggle even more. Worse – he couldn't seem to feel his legs...Was he blind? Dead?

It was that dream again. The one he was sure he'd had over and over...falling and falling. Falling through a thin black veil...

_Where are you Sirius?!_

"Hey...hey...lad!" repeated a gentle voice. "Please - I'm only trying to help you!"

The teenager calmed a little as he began to understand his surroundings, and by degrees eventually stilled, aiding his breathing. The voice was soothing, and rather familiar to him...

"Now that's much better, isn't it?" came the light tone, trying to soothe. "Good to see you're finally awake. You're lucky I was just passing by. I don't know how or why you got up there, but you fell down and hurt yourself. You have likely got concussion too. I've just requested you something to heal the bruising more quickly – but that might take a few more hours – so you'll have to just -"

Harry suddenly let out a quiet sob as some relief washed over him.

"Lup-in?"

There was a short silence. "How did you know...?" enquired the voice, curiosity in its tone.

"W-wha..?" mumbled Harry, before realising. His brain was playing catch up yet again. Of course - Lupin wouldn't know him!

He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't seem to find his voice - it was just as if a sharp pinscher now had a grip of his ribcage, and was preventing him taking breath enough to utter more than a couple of words.

"It's H – ah - I'm- m... H..."

"Not from Hogwarts, eh? So, no doubt he saw you in the papers a few years back then, Lupin," came a sudden growl as the teenager gave up the struggle to talk. "Some kids don't miss much. Make bloody good Aurors, some of those kids – if Hogwarts could keep itself a half-decent Defence professor!"

As Lupin quietly worded a greeting, Harry had already recognised the gruff voice as Mad-Eye Moody. He tried to move again, but that attempt sent such a pulse of pain over his chest he near fainted.

"So – this is him eh? You're pretty sure he's a wizard then, this kid?" continued Moody, his clawed wooden foot clunking soundly over toward where the Teenager lay.

As he still couldn't see a thing for whatever reason, Harry could only imagine that freaky electric-blue eye roving around and near x-raying him from head to toe.

"I reckon so," replied Lupin, frowning. "He has no wand, but I did find a Zonko's sweet in one of his pockets."

"And he was found injured in Potter's back garden you say?"

"Yes."

Moody gave a low grunt as he sat down heavily. "Bit on the scrawny side. Very suspicious circumstances. Death Eater?"

Lupin sighed. "No. No mark. Nothing."

"Hmph. Doesn't look old enough for one anyway. Well, lucky for you then, not to have Headquarters crawling with the villains now looking for their kid!" replied the Auror darkly. "Know who he is?"

"No..."

"Dumbledore seen him?"

"Not yet."

"Daily Prophet?"

"Dumbledore is trying to keep this as quiet as possible. Doesn't want a fuss."

"And Potter?"

Harry gave a hoarse moan, partly out of pain, partly out of frustration. Why should something so simple as speaking suddenly become such a task?

Lupin seemed to pause, the breath hitch in his throat. "I...Harry...is fine. I checked on him before I apparated here."

"Oh...I see." Moody sounded amused. "The lad wasn't busy adding infamy to his parents reputation then?"

"Well...you can get into the mode of thinking about Harry that way...or...you could support me in thinking that maybe it was his parents that got him into his troubles in the first place?" replied Lupin dryly.

Moody let out a gruff chuckle. "Ever the thinker, weren't you, Lupin? A blameless Potter...Ah, I like that!"

"Yes," replied Lupin quietly. "It does seem rather ironic to those of us who knew James. And Lily too...to be very honest..."

Harry was much too busy trying to breathe as shallowly as possible (so as to not cause himself more pain,) than listen in to any more of the adults' intriguing conversation. He caught snippets at best from the next few conversations. And as a few more days went by he still somehow failed to even pick up enough clues to figure out exactly where he was, or what building he was in. All he was aware of in however long it was were the occasional change of visitor from Moody to perhaps Dumbledore.

Lupin however didn't appear to leave his bedside. It was the only voice that always seemed to be there – and this Harry was deeply grateful for.

Once the boy appeared to be sleeping, Moody glanced down at his watch, placed his old hat on his head and rose to leave. "Well, that's another night over with."

Wrapping himself up in his cloak, he noted his companion took no similar action, instead continuing to sit half asleep in the chair. "Remaining with him then, Lupin?" he enquired gruffly.

Lupin straightened up from his awkward sitting posture and stretched his legs out in front of him, giving a half-yawn. "Yes, I am, I'm afraid. Dumbledore's orders."

"Hoping he'll tell you what he was up to in Potter's garden?" growled Moody lowly. "The devil he will, I say!"

Lupin frowned slightly. "Why would you say that?"

As the Auror leaned in slightly closer, Lupin noted that while Moody's normal eye was looking at him, the magical one was constantly fixed on the teen. "Just a hunch," he muttered quietly. "I'd go so far to say I don't like it. I'd keep a very, very close eye on him if I were you..."

Lupin gave a tight smile. "Well, no sleeping on the job for me, then."

Moody nodded seriously and turned to leave. As he opened the door he paused and turned back, the light in the room playing eerily with the scars on his face.

"Don't ask me why, Lupin, but that lad just doesn't look trustworthy to me. I'd watch every move he makes..."

Lupin barely had time to nod before the door clicked shut. Letting out a breath of relief, he waited until the Auror's claw leg had clunked its way across the landing before rising from his seat.

"Looks like it's a case of Moody's eye versus Lupin's nose, then," he quipped wanly.

* * *

He drew the curtains on the late evening sky with one wave of his wand, and bent over the bed to examine the boy yet again. Lupin sighed; he was looking better, his foot mending well with the help of the potions, but it had been almost two weeks since he had found him in the garden, and it was still shocking to think of what state he had been in. Feverish, injured, the smell of alcohol still evident.

A fifteen-year-old on something as strong as whiskey?

And quite a bit of it, too.

Lupin gazed over at the glowing coals in the fireplace, recalling the unmistakable smell of cannabis on the boy's breath. Faint but still lingering.

And then to top it all there were the utterly conflicting mix of other smells, which should never be together at all. A mix of old and new magics, scents which seemed to somehow trigger off earlier memories unwittingly. Memories from years ago...And then more recently acrid ones.

Burnt plastic?

Lupin shook his head and shrugged them off. It was all pretty alarming.

"Ah, if only things could turn out the way you want them to," came a sombre sigh from behind.

Lupin jumped a little, in spite of himself. No matter how hard he concentrated, he could never ever smell or detect the enigma that was Dumbledore. Flitwick always smelt of liquorice, Sprout of compost, Snape of burnt herbs and charcoal. Dumbledore...nothing. Not even lemondrops. It was most disconcerting!

He turned, to find the ancient-old wizard peering wearily at him from over the top of his spectacles.

"What do you mean?" he smiled, trying not to appear too rattled.

Dumbledore looked grave, and merely motioned his hand toward the bed. The younger wizard looked round to gaze at the boy again.

He furrowed his brow as he studied the boy once again. "Headmaster – why do I feel as if I know this stranger?"

"If you feel you know him, maybe you do know him," was the cryptic reply.

Lupin peered closely at the boy for a few more minutes, before eventually turning back to Dumbledore, baffled. "I still can't grasp it. It's – it's just as if one sense is deceiving another all the time. A mental block..."

The twinkle faded from the old wizard's eyes. "Ah," was the eventual reply. "I'm afraid I don't know at this point. Only the boy can be asked those questions, but not now, as only after much time and thought will he likely be able to answer them properly. People are under the impression I am wise, but even wisdom still won't help you predict what flavour Bertie Botts bean you will get next."

Lupin blinked.

"I am calling an Order meeting, Remus," added Dumbledore, deftly changing the subject. "But I need you to be stationed at the Dursleys from six o clock tomorrow night, so I am afraid to say as it will be held then, you will miss it."

"But," began Lupin.

"And I will ensure the boy is kept company," continued the old wizard benignly. Lupin noted that the twinkle was noticeably back in Dumbledore's eye.

"Who?"

Dumbledore deigned to reply, instead crossing over the room to throw a sparkling dust into the fireplace.

"Are you free to watch over an ill child tomorrow night, please Severus?" enquired the Headmaster.

"And what exactly would the Headmaster do to me if I refused?" came the low bitter growl from within the flames.

"Thank you, Severus."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were unsurprised to meet Remus Lupin's shocked ones. "Well, there you go, all worries allieviated, Remus," he replied cheerfully. "Now you are free to watch over Harry instead."

Lupin gazed at the Headmaster, mouth slightly open. "I..."

"Trust that is okay with you, Remus?" continued the old wizard, raising a querying eyebrow. "After all it will do you good to get some fresh air after being cooped up in this stuffy old house for near on two weeks. And likewise will it do Severus good after cooping himself up to sulk in that dark damp place he likes to call his quarters for an equal amount of time."

Lupin blinked, went to open his mouth, before deciding against speaking and frowning instead. He looked back down at the sleeping boy, whose mouth and hands were now twitching slightly in his sleep.

Now, he knew why the boy reminded him of someone! Understood those smells, and all the secrecy surrounding this boy. There was just one more scent he had left to recognise...one that was as old as it was new. One that had been familiar to him long ago, and again barely...three years ago.

His jaw dropped down. It couldn't be.

It just...

He should have never mistrusted his senses. They were screaming the answer at him all along

He turned abruptly to confront Dumbledore with his discovery, only to find the old wizard had disappeared as noiselessly as he had arrived.


	18. The Three

A/N: Chapter 18! This story isn't dead yet! Hang on people – I'm still in the process of recovering my routine after my time in that muse-destroying job!

I'm sorry this chapter's a bit short, but I'm still writing the next scene, and it's quite a bit longer than this one, so they're better split up. When I post it, you'll see what I mean. ;o)

Please review so I can see if you're still interested!!

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

**The Three**

He was almost afraid to turn around.

There was a possibility, a small possibility, all those years ago – one tiny window of time where it could have happened – and it had. Lupin had tried to convince himself that the boy had picked up Harry's scent from being in his house, yet as the days wore on, the scent had remained as strong as ever. He shook his head. And he had known. He had known Harry's scent had never conformed to the family scent. This never raised alarm bells in his nose, but why should it, when the visual was convincing enough?

Well, there was the price to pay for assuming anything in the wizarding world. But this cost wasn't his. No wonder Snape had been sulking even more than usual.

He shook his head and sighed bitterly. Well, he knew now, he knew now.

"Oh, Lily..." he murmured, only to turn and be startled to find a pair of dark green eyes staring at him. He stared back, hearing the breath catch in his throat.

"Lupin...?"

_Merlin..._ Lupin's mouth went dry. The boy's voice sounded nothing like it used to. Yet...

"Harry?"

Harry managed only a brief smile at his friend before his face crumpled with emotion. Tears filling his eyes, threatening to fall, but Harry refused to blink and let them. He would be strong. He would...

But once Lupin's face cracked and the weight of his arm was around his shoulders Harry felt a great pressure welling up, and he could hold his tears in no longer.

* * *

The oppressive silence was broken only by a faint bubbling sound, and the constant drip, drip of condensation running down the cold stone walls.

Severus Snape fumed, then fumed some more. Never enough privacy when he wanted to be alone. Always that meddling old fool reminding him of who he was – where he was.

He stared down at the mess of glass shards and spilled fluid, which had been a half vial full of pulverised baboon heart, before Dumbledore's sudden rude trespass into the fireplace had caused him to shatter it.

"Reparo," he hissed, flicking the restored glass and contents back up into his hand.

He was no babysitter, and wouldn't be used as such. If the boy chose to throw himself out of a window and break his legs again – well, that was fine by him.

He would do the bare minimum he was asked for – no more. He would take the boy for a little family visit – show him exactly where his 'father's' tomfoolery landed _him_. Oh yes. And if Dumbledore dared to expect any more after this...

Snape twisted his mouth into an ugly smirk. Well he'd just prove to the Headmaster how big a mistake he was making in trying to manipulate him into looking after the brat. He would spare the boy nothing about his father's condition – and he was hardly going to dress up and put on an act for him either. No – that would be yet another secret Potter would have to keep from his friends...his Professors...everyone.

He would know who Potter really was, and Potter would know who the man masquerading as his father really was. It was only fitting that Potter should have a share of his frustration with the Headmaster's ridiculous, secret plot.

Snape tilted the bowl and watched the pieces of baboon heart slither slowly into the cauldron. His expert eye observed closely as the brew gradually thickened with each vicious sideswipe of the stirring stick.

It had taken near two weeks on the low simmer with over seventy different ingredients, ranging from Nightshade roots to Galingale, Broom, Charlock, shards of one particular animal bone, powdered pinch of another. Tufts, seeds, droplets, pips, boiled, simmered, distilled, scorched, ground, dried. Some common, some rare, a few endangered.

Begrudgingly, Snape had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed the challenge.

Severus eyes' flickered over the long list of ingredients - just three more left to add now. In potion making the most volatile additions were always left until last. Snape turned over to the final page of the crumbling instruction pamphlet and frowned. This potion was so dangerous he was still reeling as how Dumbledore trusted him to brew it anywhere near Hogwart's grounds, let alone inside the castle itself.

But then there was the pressing need for secrecy, and Hogwarts in mid-Summer was virtually deserted and therefore ideal. He was currently four floors below ground level in the deepest known dungeon chambers Hogwarts had. They were so deep in fact as to actually be below the surface level of the lake, and because of this the chambers were often a foot deep or more with foul smelling water, and therefore useless for storage. The heavy air and damp chill down here was such that Severus often found his breath misting around him.

Three ingredients. Chameleon skin to aid the fluency of the change – Wyvern blood for the permanence of the metamorphosis, and finally Human blood (or any other select animal blood – if you wished) for the realisation of the final form.

Chameleon skin, unfortunately, was very volatile, not to say highly explosive if used incorrectly. Snape didn't store it in his potions' store for the simple reason that if any student got hold of it and made a mistake in brewing, Hogwarts could say goodbye to its foundations.

Wyvern blood was obtainable, but only through very select circles. Snape had been in contact with the Potions Professor of Durmstrang, and she had slipped him information of a possible contact in the German Alps. It had turned out supply of blood was by request only, and there was a wait of two weeks per order, so Snape had had to time his brewing precisely.

That left...his brother's blood. His jaw stiffened slightly. Human blood was one of the darkest ingredients he could use; dabbling with it had destroyed and corrupted many a weaker witch or wizard. Some had even been foolish enough to use the blood on themselves without first subjecting it to curse and disease checks...

Snape's lip twitched slightly with amusement. He himself hadn't collected human blood for any sort of potion for over seventeen years. _One aspect of his past that Dumbledore tactfully chose to exclude from his Death Eater trial._

The final three ingredients were all too risky to store inside Hogwarts for any length of time (not to mention two of them being topmost on the banned list of potion ingredients in British wizarding schools since the times of Grindlewald, due to their dark associations.) so he had to go out on a special errand the day he meant to use them.

Snape completed his hundred and twelfth stir and removed the stirrer carefully. His bitter sneer widened as he watched the cauldron's content gradually darken from orange red to deep blood red as it stilled.

Blood, blood blood. It was all about blood.

His eyes glittered in the dim torchlight. _Blood made no difference when hatred existed._


End file.
